


just like before, I promise you forever

by all_because_2_people_fell_in_love



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drinking to Cope, Eventual Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Insomnia, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 50,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24462808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_because_2_people_fell_in_love/pseuds/all_because_2_people_fell_in_love
Summary: Harry left for Italy right after they broke up and mutally decided it was best if they were just friends. Four months later, and he's back. Louis thinks that drinking his way through the last four months to help him sleep at night and forget about Harry were pointless, because of course Harry worms himself back into Louis's life anyway.A story in which Louis loses himself and forgets that he has his bandmates and family around him, and Harry is the only one who can help. But they have to manage a fake relationship in front Harry's mum and sister whilst figuring things out.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea came to me when I was about to go to sleep. It's my first piece of fan fiction ever, and it's probably not the best, but I really had fun making it! This first chapter is kind of short because it's just the prologue, but the next chapter is a long one because it's literally the rest of the story.  
> The story does contain a bit of alcohol and drug abuse, but it's mainly in the beginning scenes. There's small mentions of it throughout, though, so just be aware.  
> There’s also mentions of insomnia.  
> I'm so grateful if you decide to give this story a chance, and I'm even more happy if you enjoy it!  
> Please leave kudos if you enjoy💗  
> Have a nice day!

Prologue

He's not quite sure where he is, or who he's with, but he's just thankful to not be in the silence of his own home. 

He's pretty certain he's inside. He's tried multiple times to tip his head back and find the stars, but he just catches a glimpse of a dingy ceiling each time before he topples back, his drink sloshing over his hand and drying into a sticky mess. 

So, yes, he's certain he's inside. 

It's dark here, the occassional light flicking across his space and illuminating the area around him. There's people everywhere, and they're swarming, all moving too quick and then standing unnaturally still.

There's bodies knocking into other bodies, and he's not quite sure if it's on purpose or not, but he gets jostled too many times to count, his whole body rocking with the force of it as if he's lost his centre of gravity. 

The masses of people are shouting, trying to make conversation over the music, and it's making his brain feel numb, but he doesn't know how to tell them to shut up, doesn't _want_ to.

Feeling numb is exactly why he came out tonight. 

He catches a glimpse of someone, someone he thinks he might know. He realises it's Rick, one of guys he often sees around these parts of London. He thinks he can remember going to one of his parties once, but he's not sure. He doesn't remember much right now. 

To go over and and stick with someone slightly familiar tonight or to hide from anyone he knows the name of, is the question.

It's tempting to go and say hi, see if the man even remembers him, but there's another part of him yelling to not be seen. He doesn't want to have to make conversation, he doesn't want to have to explain. He'd much rather stand here, a group of girls in too short dresses that make them look cold surrounding him, yelling in his ears and clutching onto his arms as he just stares at anything but them. 

But then Rick is walking over, an encouraging smile on his face as he raises his eyebrows at the crowd around him. 

"Louis, my man! How've you been?" He's shouting, just like everyone else, and Louis breaks away from the gaggling girls to reach him. 

"I'm good."

"I haven't seen you in a while. I told Zayn to bring you to a couple of parties, but neither of you showed." He furrows his eyebrow, and that reminds Louis too much of somebody else. 

"Ah, sorry." It comes out devoid of emotion. "We've been busy, not had much time for partying."

"It's okay. You're out tonight. Is Zayn here?"

"No, no," Louis looks down into his cup, and his drink is almost at the bottom. He definitely needs another.

"What about Ha-"

"No. I'm alone." He says it under the beat of the music, but it's firm, and Rick hears him. 

"Well, then. You can come stand with us if you want? Unless you're happy where you are." 

Louis watches as his eyes drift over his shoulder, back to the girls still standing behind him. No, Louis does _not_ want to stay where he is. 

"Sure."

He follows Rick back to a small group of people standing by the bar. He's introduced to them all, but he forgets their names as soon as Rick's said them. He nods at them anyway, trying to be polite, and they all smile back, a guy even ordering him another drink. 

He stays with them until he can't feel his legs, until he doesn't understand his own thoughts that are stilted and pointless.

Everything is pointless. 

He can still hear a voice in his head, a deep drawl that makes him shudder until he washes it away with another gulp of his drink, and when Rick pulls out a small packet of pills, he chases one down with yet another drink, and doesn't think anything of it. 

*

He's high. So high. _So_ high.

He's not quite sure what he took, not sure what day it is, not sure if he's still got his shoes on as he prances through the streets, but he _knows_ he doesn't care. He hears Rick behind him, dragging along his girlfriend who had passed out in the club. Louis resents her for it because, one, she had been blissfully knocked out, and two, it had been the last straw and security had kicked them out.

They'd kicked them out of the _vip section_. Do you know how hard it is to be kicked out of the vip section? 

But here they are, Louis leading the way to a chippy. It's cold, and he's lost his jacket, his t-shirt doing nothing to sheild his skin, but he doesn't focus on it, finding it easy to forget as he jumps over the low fence of a park. There's swings, and a slide, and Louis knows that the little play house is actually used by the teenagers of the area to get high.

 _He's_ high. So very, very high. 

He remembers some blue and green pills in his hand, remembers them grating against the walls of his throat as he swallowed them. He remembers a joint between his fingers, and he's not sure if he ever actually finished it off. And then some guy had come round, and Rick had slipped him some money, and Louis just watched as the guy tipped some powder into all of their drinks before slinking away. 

"Lou, this isn't the chippy," Rick's mumbling as he grabs the ropes of Louis's swing, leaning on them until Louis tips off the back. 

"Whoops," Louis giggles to himself, and he hears Rick's girlfriend giggling too, and then they're full on laughing as Louis tries to pick himself up off the ground, his wrists suddenly not strong enough to hold up his bodyweight. 

"You two are so fucking annoying. Come onnn. I'm hungry," Rick's pulling out some cigarettes. 

"Oi, let me have one." Louis slumps back to the floor, a twig sticking into his back.

"You have your own," Rick mutters around the lit cigarette. 

Louis watches the smoke curl up into the dark until it disappears. 

"I've lost my jacket."

"Well that's your own fault." But he's passing Louis one anyway, almost falling on top of him as he leans over to stick it into his mouth the wrong way round. 

Louis's phone buzzes in his back pocket. He pulls it out to find a message from Niall. _Do you want me to bring some food over?_

Louis huffs, typing out a no, his phone too bright and too close to his face as he holds it above him. 

The boys have been getting so annoying lately, always calling him up or popping over unannounced. They're always trying to check up on him, trying to make plans with him all the time like they're Louis's only friends, and Louis's learnt that ignoring their calls and locking his front door helps a little.

Although, that's now resulted in them using their keys to get in. 

Louis catches a sudden flash from across the park, and he sits up fully this time, but there's nothing there. The park is empty, completely silent except from the click of a lighter as Rick tries to light another cigarette, and the rustle of trees above him as the wind picks up. But they're alone. Everything is normal. 

*

He's staring into his toilet, his ears still ringing from the club that he left almost an hour ago. The bathroom is dark, and he's taken off his top and undone his jeans, and his knees dig uncomfortably into the tiled floor as he wretches.

He can feel himself falling, but he can't reach out to hold on, can't be bothered too. 

The floor cools him down slightly, but his stomach is still clenching, and then he's rolling onto his side as he throws up into the space beside his head. The smell burns his nostrils, and he feels another load coming up, but he passes out before he can do much about it. 

* 

He's out with Rick again, another place he never knew existed until tonight.

That's how his last couple of weeks have gone, trailing around after Rick to a different part of London until he doesn't even know where he is. He doesn't want to, but Rick has the pills, and his friends bring bags of weed or small containers of cocaine, so he doesn't complain. 

But then there's this guy, and Louis thinks he might just punch him. He comes out with the rest of Rick's bandits, and Louis has never been this irrittated by someone in his life.

He can handle him once he's in the state between drunk and absolutely smashed, and he's confused because he's already there, and this guy, _Lee_ , is still annoying the fuck out of him. 

He keeps asking Louis questions, asking stuff Louis doesn't want to think about, and he does it with this smirk on his face, and he digs at Louis's ribs like a five year old bully on the playground. 

And suddenly they're outside, and Louis _does_ punch him. He can't quite walk straight, and the world seems to be tipping upside down until every single thought of his is being shook out of his head, but his fist most definitely just connected with Lee's jaw.

Guess this is the last time he's coming out with them. 

He hears him grunt, thinks he might even see a little bit of blood on his own knuckles as he holds his hand out in front of him in amazement, not actually sure how he got it to function, but he doesn't know who's blood it is. He really fucking hopes it's Lee's.

*

He wakes up gasping, and he can physically feel his heart in his chest. His head hurts and his throats dry, and there's a layer of sweat coating his skin. He can still feel the effects of the drugs washing over him, and he knows he's on the come down, and flashes of his dream that shook him awake are playing for him like a horror story.

Did his subconscience really have to betray him like that?

Almost two full months of pushing every little thought away, going to extreme lengths to ensure he stays positively blank, only for his brain to attack him when he has no defenses up, giving him images and feelings he doesn't want. 

He crawls out of bed, finds the bottle of tequila in his cupboard, and drinks until he passes out on his sofa. 

*

"So, I've looked over the email you sent me, and I thought it was important that you come in."

The room is to bright, and it hurts his eyes. Why do they need to decorate everything with white?

The clinical lights bounce off of each surface, and he just wants to be in a dark room, one that's quiet and let's him get some rest. He doesn't want to have to deal with the real world right now. 

"From what you wrote, I've come to the conclusion that you might have developed insomnia."

He flicks his head up to the doctor in front of him. She's young, and she's pulled her hair back and over done her make up to appear older, and her harsh eyebrows are pointed up and staring down at Louis. But she's a private doctor, a professional one that Louis has paid extra to ensure she doesn't go running to the press.

"What?"

"All of the symptoms you've said link back to insomnia. You said you find it hard to sleep, even when you're tired, and you wake up throughout the night. It's the most reasonable explanation."

"What about the dreams?"

"Well, we got your results back from your urine sample, and it's possible that the dreams are alcohol and drug induced, but that's hard to tell. Are you stressed out recently?"

"Um, not neccasserily."

"Has anything changed in your life? Something drastic?"

Yes.

"Not that I can currently think of."

"Well, I'm going to give you this prescription, but you might want to seek out other advice if this doesn't work. It should do, but the cause of everyone's insomnia is different."

He really fucking hopes it works.

*

He's sitting on the sofa, glass in his hand with the TV on mute. The curtains are shut, and he feels slightly sick, but he keeps sipping his drink anyway in small tiny sips so that there is no chance he can become fully sober. He doesn't want a hangover, he doesn't want a headache, and he just wants to sleep, but he feels anxious, alone for the first night in a while, and his body doesn't seem to want to settle. 

He's already text Rick and said he doesn't feel like coming out tonight, being forced to stay at home by his PR team who had sent him a raging email with a link attatched to many articles that Louis had only skimmed.

It's not like Rick wants him out anyway since the Lee extravaganza. 

The media was apparently obsessed with him right now, pictures everywhere of him throwing up in the streets, getting into arguments in the clubs, his eyes ringed red from the weed and pupils blown from god knows what. 

They've also managed to get many sources that are spilling stories about Louis's wild few months, and Louis would normally scoff at how ridiculous they are, but he can't even deny any of the things the articles are saying he's done. 

A knock at the door makes him jump.

He stays dead still in the darkness of his living room, only the light from the TV flickering across him. It gives everything a cold, harsh edge, and it hurts his eyes, but he's not comfortable shutting them. 

Another knock is only amplified by the silence of his house. 

"Louis, answer the door. I know you're home." 

Fucking Liam. 

He huffs, standing from the sofa. He needs a new one. This one's too low and he has to put too much effort into getting up, and it has too many stains on it which Louis doesn't remember making. 

He opens the door to find Liam in a pea coat, holding a plastic bag to his chest. Louis can smell his aftershave from here, and it sets off a nerve in Louis's brain, feeling it twitch and ache. 

"What?"

Liam stares at him, an angry eyebrow coming down over his left eye and a concerned tilt to the corners of his mouth.

Actually, it might be disappointment. 

"I've got you some food. Zayn said you didn't feel well."

Louis really needs to stop making excuses to each of them, or at least come up with better ones. 

"Oh, right."

He lets Liam through, watching as he walks straight past and into his living room, setting the bag on the coffee table. Louis follows him in, watches as his eyes glance at the drink on the floor by the sofa, then the silent TV, his nose wrinkling. 

"Well, thanks. Really appreciate it," Louis crosses his arms, not meeting Liam's eyes. He doesn't want to see the look he's giving him. 

"Louis."

"Seriously, thanks, Liam. I'm sure this will help." 

He picks up the bag, pulling out tins of soup. How cliche. 

"Louis."

"I should feel better by tomorrow. Should be okay to come to the studio or something."

" _Louis_."

He looks up at him, and Liam looks defeated. Louis realises how tired he looks, circles under his eyes and his shoulders dropping. 

"It's Sunday tomorrow. There is no studio session," he almost whispers it, and it sounds like he's talking to a child. Louis doesn't want to be a child. 

"Right, yeah, of course."

"Look, Louis. It's been nearly four months. You can't keep doing this. We don't even know who you are anymore."

Louis flinches. He doesn't want to hear this. Does Liam not realise that _he_ doesn't know who he is anymore?

"He'll be back soon. What are you going to do then?"

There's silence, and the shadows of Liam's face are too sharp, making him look slightly menacing. But the blue light of the TV reflects off of his eyes, all chocolate brown and sympathetic, and Louis feels his fingers twitch at the sides of his thighs, blocking him out.

"Louis, we're really worried about you. We just want you to come out with us. Or even just let us help you. We want Louis back," he sounds so helpless, and it does something to Louis's chest. 

_He_ wants Louis back. He wants to leave his house when it isn't getting dark out. He wants to get a full night's sleep. He doesn't want to have to clear up his sick whilst still feeling like he's about to collpase. He wants to go out with his friends and not feel the need to reach for the pills because the drink isn't doing enough. He wants to feel normal. 

"I'll call you tomorrow, Liam."

With the finality in his voice, Liam has no choice but to leave. 

He huffs, and then he's walking towards the front door.

He turns as he opens it, and Louis's right behind him, itching to shut the door and twist the lock. 

"Open the curtains or something, Lou. It might make you feel a little bit better."

Louis wants to scoff. Opening curtains will do nothing. 

But then Liam's wrapping him in a hug, leaning down to cover Louis, and Louis finds himself hugging him back. He hasn't hugged someone in so long, barely does a fist bump when he meets up with Rick.

But this is Liam. Liam actually cares. 

Louis wants to care, but all he feels is an undoubtedly strong sense that he's lost. 

**

You see, the thing with pain is that it's indescribable.

There is no way to explain the way you feel, and that's why everyone describes it physically; your lungs want to collapse but can't stop taking in too much air, the walls of your throat rub together, your chest tightens, your ribs feel like they're concaving, and your sobs rip through your whole body until you hate the sound. 

You want to tell somebody, let them take some of the weight, hear them say that not everything is okay, but you'll be fine. But what the hell are they actually going to do about it?

That hurts the most - being hurt whilst being alone. 

You say you want to feel again, but you _are_ feeling. You just don't want to feel _this_. It's nothing you want, but you can't get rid of it no matter how hard you try to swallow it down or spit it out. It won't leave you. 

It sits inside until it weighs enough to keep you under, and then you don't think you'll ever resurface. 

There's this point where you sob and it doesn't break, and it's like your mouth is trying to force a noise out but it won't come, and your ears pop with the pressure, your head creating a whitenoise that is so unsettling that you want to rip your brain out, and your jaw locks and there's nothing you can do but bare your teeth at the world. 

You're drowning in your own tears and feeling something so gut wrenching that you want to die, but it just makes you all the more aware that you're very much alive.


	2. my sweet golden boy

Louis wakes up disorientated, his alarm cutting through his skull. He groans, knowing it's too early, not quite sure why he set an alarm in the first place, but it's still ringing, the spine quivering music slowly bringing him out of the space between sleep and conciousness. Rolling over to turn it off only makes him feel worse, his stomach making itself known as it starts churning with his movements.

The night had been awful, one spent mostly awake in hot and cold sweats that he couldn't shake. The drink from the night before had managed to sedate him enough to get him to sleep, but he can remember waking up at around one in the morning, suddenly more sober than he went to bed. He hadn't had a full hours sleep since then. The drink might have been beneficial at the time, seeming like a splendid idea in the moment, but now it's just left him with a hangover to nurse.

But he's used to this. Has been for the past few months. The prospect of another day being dictated by a hangover doesn't seem too bad to him anymore. It means he could sleep it off on the sofa, which seems to be the only time his body is okay with him resting.

The sound of another alarm reminds him that he doesn't have that option today. The only time he sets an alarm anymore is when something is happening with the band, so he grudgingly holds his stomach, rubbing it gently in circular motions in an attempt to settle the the bile thats threatening to rise in his throat as he makes his move to the shower.

He washes away the dirt from the night before, the sticky drink that had been spilt over him and went through his clothes now taking up residence in his drain, as well as the sweat of people he considers more aquaintences than friends. It doesn't make him feel any less disgusting, and it certainly doesn't ease the pain in his left temple or the slosh in his stomach. He does manage to get himself dressed, however, despite the ache that runs through him, just a hoodie and the first pair of jeans that he can find that aren't dirty, and he actively avoids his own reflection in the mirror above the sink as he splashes his face.

He's certain he wouldn't know the person looking back at him.

*

A helpful email from someone off their management team let's Louis know that there's a meeting scheduled for this morning, and an interview straight after. It's not a bad day considering a lot more could have been scheduled, and Louis feels like he can power through it.

But everything goes to shit when he remembers. He's just pulling up to the syco building, and his foot slams on the breaks as if the assault to his brain was a physical threat. His car stops, half turned into the gates whilst the backend of it still hangs in the road, but he can't bring himself to care, or even get his foot to move off the pedal.

How could he forget? It's the whole reason he's in this state, the whole reason he's been in this state for months now. It's why he's a barely functioning human being, wearing clothes that are too big for him since he lost weight and started smoking more than he used to. It's why he stays out when he should be asleep because he dreads the night ahead.

He vaguely remembers the night prior, watching somebody slip some pills into his drink because he was begging them to make him forget, make time slow to a stop. He doesn't even remember the guy's face. 

His headache attacks him full swing, and he grips at the sides of his hair, tugging in frustration. This can't be happening. It's all too soon. He can't deal with this today, or any day for that matter.

The trepidation seizes him, holding him up by the throat as it plunges it's hand into Louis's chest and fiddles at his heart strings like they're wires.

His hoodie feels suffocating, the collar suddenly too high and too rough against his skin, and he's not sure he can feel his arms as they hug at his head, shielding him from the morning light. 

A car beeping almost sends him through the window. The noise of London traffic and the cooing of stupid pidgeons slowly filter back in, and the continuous beeping of the car behind him earns them a middle finger.

He manages to lift his foot, his hands resting back on the steering wheel as he breathes deep, a metallic taste in his mouth that he realises is coming from a bite mark on his tongue.

He pulls into the building's carpark, slowly, as of he's suddenly lost the ability to drive without putting all of his attention into it, and when he comes to a crooked stop, he rests his head on the wheel, the pain making it difficult to see.

He hasn't seen Harry in four months, hasn't even spoke to him. It had been a mutual decision to end their three year relationship, a breakup without fights, or anger, or hurtful words that couldn't be taken back.

It was only the last few months of their relationship that things started to go...wrong. They were both busy, and when they weren't, they still didn't see each other. Neither of them really noticed until they sat down one night and realised they hadn't had a proper conversation in weeks. They had had moments like this before of course, and they normally pushed through it, always pulled through eventually.

But, this time, neither of them seemed to want to put the effort in. They were tired - not of each other, but of everything that came with being together. Just being in a relationship had become such a chore given by their managment, their nosey fans, the judgemental people in the industry that turned their noses up at them, and they didn't have the energy.

They agreed that they would be just friends, and Louis knew that their love for each other was strong enough for that, strong enough to be friends and carry on with their lives like normal, just without all of the intamcy that they had grown so accostumed to.

But, clearly, Harry didn't feel the same, because the day after, he proposed to their management that maybe he should go to Italy for a few months, isolate himself so that he could get over his writers block and get some songs done before the deadline for the album. At least, that was the reasoning he gave to management. And of course they agreed.

So within a few days, Harry was flown out to Italy without his phone or laptop, just a member of managment to ensure that he had no contact with anyone from back home whilst out there.

And the thing that hurt the most was that he didn't even tell Louis. He just packed his bags and left.

No goodbye.

Instead, Louis had to walk into the studio to find no Harry and too many sympathetic faces from the other boys that he had wanted to slap. 

He's had time now, four months to get over this hurt that stayed in his chest for weeks. He knows that Harry didn't owe him anything, deserved to go to Italy in fact, deserved to live a life without Louis constantly there to distract him and demand all of his attention. It wasn't the type of decision to include Louis in anymore.

Only, it felt like Harry had removed himself from his life completely, ripped himself away and left to many open wounds for Louis to handle. And that's not what Louis had agreed too when they split. He had agreed to stay friends, not strangers that get erased from each other's lives.

It's why Louis started with the drinking, only a few glasses to help him sleep as his bed now felt too cold without an oversized body next to him. But then that wasn't tiring him out anymore, wasn't easing the anxiety that was now a permanent in Louis's chest, so he found clubs in the heart of London, found Rick who wouldn't judge him or be concerned about his behaviour like the lads, and he's partied his way through these four months.

But then this lifestyle started causing him so many problems. 

His health was deteriorating. He felt like he was constantly in the state between tipsy and completely off his face, even when he hadn't had a drink. He now has insomnia that many doctors have struggled to help him with. And, on top of that, he's been making almost every headline. 

So, four months later, his life is a bit fucked up. 

But Harry's due back today, his flight landing early this morning so he could make it in time for the meeting and also attend the interview. Louis's not sure he's ready to see him, not sure what kind of headspace Harry's in.

He has no idea what he's been up to, if he's even thought about Louis.

Probably not.

Louis can't imagine taking up much of his mind whilst he's out enjoying Italy, completely alone for the first time in his life. He's probably been out every night, just like Louis, but instead of using it as a coping mechanism, he's doing it because he can - he wants too. And Louis's not there to complain about being too tired, or standing by his side all night, shooting glares at anyone who such much as looks at Harry and all his glory. He's probably been relaxing at the beach, swimming, going out for breakfast, meeting new people, got new friends.

Maybe he's even found someone new.

That makes Louis's stomach tighten even more, which he didn't realise was possible.

Of course Harry would have found someone to give his time too whilst out there. He's never been to good at being alone, so it would make sense if he found someone to enjoy his four months with.

Louis can picture it now, Harry arriving with some Italian guy that's all tall and tanned, the guy's arm wrapped around Harry's broad shoulders, Harry placing a kiss to his cheek, holding him round the waist.

Even after all this time, Louis thinks he can still feel the ghost of Harry's arms wrapped around him, the coconut fragrance of his hair constanly lingering like all of Louis's things have been drowned in it.

Even now, Louis knows that if he leant over the passenger seat, he would be able to smell Harry imbedded in the leather.

It leaves Louis's heart aching, his chest tight and heavy, pain going through his body like he's being tortured.

He opens the car door and swings his legs out, his head going between his knees. He thinks he might pass out. 

It takes a few minutes for his breathing to regulate, for his fists to loosen and the ground beneath him to come back into focus. He could just leave right now, say he's too sick to come in, which technically isn't a lie.

He just won't explain his symptoms - he doesn't think managment would see a hangover and a broken heart as reason too stay at home.

But, no, Louis doesn't run. Harry is the one who left, who's coming back to disrupt Louis's life all over again. Louis is better than this. He might have been running around like a rebellious teenager since Harry left him, but he won't show him how fucked up he's become. 

He stands, shakily, locking his car as he walk inside.

His breaths become heavy again as the heating hits him, drying out his throat, his hands shaking at his sides as he walks past the receptionist. She just gives him a once over, a slightly disgusted look as if Louis walking in was an inconvenience, and points to the lift.

The sudden jolts of the lift and the creaking of the converyor belts make him think that he wouldn't be mad if the metal box decided to break off and send him plummeting back down to the ground floor.

He hesitantly steps out when he reaches the level that holds the meeting rooms, and he can see through the glass walls in front of him that people are already inside. He swallows the bile in his throat, shoves his hands in his hoodie to stop them quivering, and steps in.

Everyone there turns to look at him, but Louis sees no Harry. Just someone from managment and the other boys.

It's the exact same sight he's been seeing for four months, someone always missing, a heavy silence always filling the room whenever he's present, but he can't be bothered to think about that right now.

He breathes a little bit easier, and gives them all a small, tentative smile. The boys smile back, their eyes shifting too one another in hesitation as if Louis is about to burst right here in this room and take them all with him, but then they carry on talking, not even trying to include him anymore as they know they'll be shot down.

Louis can see that they're nervous though as he sits down next to Zayn, small glances being sent his way, hands gripping the arms of their chairs in anticipation. It's the same look he gets every time one of them lets Hary's name slip. And there's concern there too, Niall looking at him with the same face as when he turned up at Louis's one day and found him crying to himself, a bottle of drink in his hand. It's the same look he gets everytime he walks in wearing the same clothes for the third time that week, the same one he gets when management pulls him in to talk about his "behaviour" that's been getting plasted in newspapers and celebrity gossip magazines.

He's been seeing that look for too long, and he feels bad for making them worry and be anxious, he really does, but it's also pissing him off. 

To avoid snapping at them to stop looking at him, he redirects his gaze onto the pile of sheets in front of him.

Another contract, he assumes.

He's flicking through it, not actually reading it but scanning the shapes of the letters with his eyes, wincing at how bright the paper is for his head as the light bounces off of it. The boys are all talking too loudly, Niall making a beat with his hands against the table that vibrates Louis's whole brain, Liam and Zayn discussing something with the man in a suit that Louis vaguely recognises.

He's about to chuck the contract back on the table, maybe groan and knick Zayn's sunglasses off his head to sheild his eyes, but the door opens and in tumbles a body. 

Everyone freezes as Harry straightens up properly, his hand on the door handle, a sheepish smile on his face in apology for clumsily making an entrance.

Louis actually feels his throat close up, oxygen not getting to his brain.

The boy he knew four months ago is not the man standing in front of him right now.

His hair is longer, curling to reach his jaw, looking as soft and fluffy as ever. He's gotten even broader, his floral shirt open down to the top of his butterfly tattoo, showcasing his toned abs that Louis doesn't remember being as prominent. His arms are bigger too, and tanned, reminding Louis just how long he's been away.

And Louis checks, more than once, but nope. No italian guy falling in behind him. 

Louis doesn't even realise that Harry is staring right back at him until it's too late, Niall jumping onto Harry in a hug that nearly knocks Harry off his feet and contains too many slaps to the back and happy shrieks than Louis's sensitive ears are comfortable with right now.

Harry's eyes break away from him, and Louis watches as he wraps himself around Niall, eyes squeezing shut so Louis can't see the emotion in them, but there's a dopey smile across his face.

Niall's laughing, cheering, sloppily kissing across Harry's face like a puppy excited to see it's owner, Louis's breath getting knocked right back into him as he hears Harry's deep chuckle. 

"For fucks sake, Haz, you are never doing that again."

Niall's letting go of him whilst Harry nods his head in earnest, agreeing with him, holding him at arms length by the shoulders whilst he looks at him.

But then it's Liam's turn for a hug, and Zayn is lining up behind him, and Louis suddenly realises that he wasn't the only one that missed Harry. 

He feels a wave of guilt at being such a wreck these past few months and leaving them to suffer too, turning a blind eye to them whilst he drank himself to sleep every night and cried in front of them more times than he would have liked, thinking he was the only one effected by Harry's sudden departure.

He watches Liam greet him, a brotherly hug and hushed words being exchanged in each other's ears, Harry's smile becoming warmer as his arms get tigher, and then Zayn's snuggling into him.

Louis doesn't know what to do. He knows it will be awkward if he just stays sitting, and he doesn't want to look like a dick who doesn't even care that Harry's back.

He cares more than he'll ever admit.

He's watching Zayn pull away, kissing Harry's cheek as he does so, and Louis feels frozen in his chair.

What the fuck is he supposed to do?

He can feel Liam watching him, but he doesn't know what he's thinking. He doesn't know what the others are thinking, what Harry's thinking. He doesn't even know what _he's_ thinking. 

But he can't just leave Harry standing there, looking as awkward as bambi, his eyes flicking over to Louis and then away, darting around the silent room as if Louis isn't even there. Louis just won't have that. They promised they would stay friends, and he will keep to his end of the promise.

He thinks he shocks everyone when he stands up, walking around the corner of the table to Harry and pulling him into a hug.

He shocks himself more than anyone.

He watches Harry's eyes go wide before his head disappears over his shoulder, and both of them are hesitant to bring their arms up and around each other, their bodies just standing against each other for a beat before Louis feels an arm come over the top of his shoulders.

It's the most uncomfortable Louis has ever felt in Harry's arms, and he wants to scream at him, blame him for everything, flinch away from the burn of his touch, but then the smell of Harry, the one so familiar, is registered by his system, and he almost melts, his eyes burning uncomfortably.

He smells like home. 

Louis seems to lose all sense of time. He feels like he's hugging Harry forever, his brain dragging the moment out for him, but then its over all too soon, and he has no control over his body when he pulls away at the same time as Harry does. He internally screams, feeling too cold and small. He just wants to stay near the warmth of Harry's body for the rest of his life, to smell the coconut that radiates off of him until he's being buried in his grave, to look into his eyes until he closes them for the last time.

But he doesn't say any of that, going for a soft "welcome home" instead. Harry gives him a small smile, and Louis just catches the sight of his dimple before he's turning around to sit at the table with everyone else. 

The battle of every emotion Louis has ever felt is going on inside him, his sadness forming at his toes, his anxiety swirling through his ribs, the anger and hurt mixing into one dangerous cocktail in his throat, his tongue curling around words he doesn't want to say. It all blends together until it's just a blazing heat, something he struggles to swallow down. 

He sits through the meeting, the lid of his pen scratching at his thigh through his jeans to give him something to focus on, the maticulous drawl of the unknown man who is soon joined by another becoming a background noise to spur on his thoughts. 

He catches eyes with Niall a few times, who raises his eyebrow at him but otherwise leaves him alone, and god bless Zayn for trying to make him laugh by saying comments under his breath. Louis does chuckle a few times, both of them earning looks from Liam, but Louis can't focus on much else.

He makes a point to not look in Harry's direction, but he can see the shape of him in the corner of his eye, so prominent and _there_ , so different to the empty space that Louis has become used to, and it makes Louis want to throw himself through the wall.

Or maybe throw Harry through the wall. 

The meeting ends with them signing the contract. Louis couldn't tell anyone what he was signing too, but the other boys are willingly scratching their names at the bottom, no hesitation on their faces. So Louis does the same, and then they're being told there's a car waiting to take them all to the interview. 

They all shuffle out, Liam calling shot gun as him and Niall race out ahead, Zayn rolling his eyes at Louis and strolling out after them like an exasperated father trailing after his kids.

And _of course_ Harry takes too long at picking up his things, his hands to large and clumsy, blindly reaching across the table for his cup of tea someone brought in for them half way through the meeting along with snacks.

Louis ends up reaching the door at the same time as him, and there's this awkward moment where they both just kind of stand there, Louis looking over Harry's shoulder whilst he feels Harry's eyes right on him. Louis doesn't know what to do, hasn't had Harry in his space - in his _life_ \- for so long, and he feels like he doesn't even know how to communicate with him anymore.

But Harry doesn't seem to have the same trouble, no fog that keeps clouding up his brain everytime they look at each other, because he smiles, all warm and bright like nothing has changed, gesturing his hand out for Louis to walk in front of him. Louis tries to smile back, but he's pretty sure it comes out as a grimace.

He feels bad when Harry's smile drops a little, but Louis hasn't smiled much these past four months, and his face hurts with the effort. 

He slides around Harry, avoiding they're arms brushing together and goes ahead of him to the car, opting for the stairs so he isn't stuck with Harry in the lift. But he hears Harry's slow footsteps behind him, like a daunting beat that's slowly catching up with him as they descend down the echoey stairwell.

Louis bounces down them faster, knowing that Harry's giraffe legs won't be able to keep up without him toppling down the stairs.

It's cold outside, but the car's waiting for them, engine running, Liam happily sitting up front with Niall sulking in the back. They slide into the back seat, Harry climbing in behind Louis and shutting the door, squishing him up close to Niall.

Louis struggles in his seat, finding it impossible to not let his thigh press against Harry's unless he flops his other leg over Niall's and practically sits in his lap, so he has to sit, hands clenched in his lap, fingernails digging into his palms till he feels the delicate skin split.

Shouldn't he be feeling something? Shouldn't he be wanting to cry, or punch something, or feel the need to stab himself? Why does he feel mindlessly numb, like he's sitting in on one of his dreams that are meaningless? 

"So, Harry, how was Italy?" Liam's asking from the front, and Louis wants to punch _him_. 

"Yeah, yeah, it was good. I started feeling a bit homesick towards the end though." Louis can feel Harry's body shifting.

"Did you miss us?" Niall asks, puppy eyed expression leaning around him to Harry. 

"Of course. I missed everyone. It was harder than I thought it would be."

"Did you write much?" Niall is still curling around the front of Louis, and Louis shoves him in the shoulder to push him back. Niall's not even effected. 

"Yeah, I did actually. Got quite a few songs. I don't know if they'll be any good for us, but they're something." 

Louis doesn't want to listen to this. He doesn't want to listen to Harry's fantastic time where he was productive and happy, living a normal life whilst Louis's world was shook so violently that everything came apart. 

Before it gets too much for him, they reach the small cafe where they're holding the interview.

It's just one that's going to end up in magazines and online, not a filmed one, so Louis doesn't have to worry about the bags under his eyes, the scruff that coats his jaw and hasn't been shaved off in a while, or his cheekbones that have sunken in from the unforgiving combination of alcohol, cigarettes and no sleep.

He wonders what Harry thought when he first saw him this morning. He proabably thought that Louis had been possessed, or become homeless, or been held hostage and tortured since he left. Louis would almost agree with the last theory, although the torture was all in his own head.

But Louis can't care what he thinks, not when it's practically his fault anyway. 

There's nobody else in the cafe for the sake of the interview, the tables all crammed close together but empty, like a ghost town. Noises can be heard coming from the kitchen at the back where the staff must be, and they find a woman, the journalist that will be hosting their interview, sitting alone on a large table big enough for them all to get onto.

The table is at the back, far enough away from the front windows so that people won't be able to see them unless they press their face up to the glass and peer in, only a dim light illuminating the area where they are.

It would be cosy under normal circumstances, but without the usual noise of other customers and with the thought of being interviewed, Louis just feels uncomfortable.

But its a familiar feeling, one that he often gets when they do things like this in hotels and meeting rooms where it doesn't have the usual bustle of people, just an eerie silence that has to be filled. But the other boys all look fine as they shake the woman's hand and each take a seat. 

"Hi, nice to meet you all. My names Lauren," the brunette greets them, Harry being the only one to introduce himself back.

It makes Louis feel something, because of course Harry introduces himself, like the poor woman has no clue who he is, like he's just some random guy off the street that just happened to stumble across this interview and decided to stick around.

Louis sees him shift from across the table, hears the small cough he places into the back of his hand.

A middle-aged waiter comes and takes their orders, all of them choosing to have a late breakfast whilst Lauren just asks for a coffee. The interview starts, and it's the usual questions. How is the album going? Have you decided on tour dates? Who's had the most involvement with the album so far? Do you already have a favourite song?

But then she starts asking questions more directly to Harry; where have you been for the past few months? Why have you been missing from all social media platforms? 

Harry answers honestly, saying he's been in Italy without any contact with anyone so he could focus completely on writing songs for the album as he was facing a block, that he went because he really wanted to contribute more this time round.

She asks him if he enjoyed it, if the trip was successful, and of course it leads to the question that all interviewers seem to get too at some point; what about your love life?

Louis stiffens at the question, always has done. All of them get asked the question more than any other, but when it used to be directed at Harry or Louis, there was always a baited breath between all of them, tension building over whatever answer was about to be given.

It makes Louis sick that this was all the media was interested in knowing, and now he's not sure his heart is willing to stay in his chest.

Harry, specifically, is made out to be this man whore, and the anger used to be evident on Louis's face whenever the question was asked. Fans used to love to pick up on that. 

He wasn't sleeping with a girl in every country. He was with Louis in their hotel room, watching Disney movies because Harry insisted they were the best things ever created, and of course Louis was happy to oblige, as long as he had Harry in his lap, warm and cuddly and content. Or they were in their own home on the outskirts of London, Harry cooking him dinner, Louis running him a bath, doing face masks together and taking selfies as if they were able to post them.

But Harry's not his anymore. They don't do any of that stuff. They haven't even had a conversation in months, despite them sitting across from each other right now. Louis has no claim to him.

So he looks down at his lap, feels Zayn tense beside him as Harry staggers out an answer, and when Harry answers the question with a polite "I'm not dating anyone" and a small smile, this time... this time its honest.

The realisation that Louis's not okay with all of this hits him like a wall of bricks. He cannot believe that he's convinced himself that he could handle being just friends with Harry, cannot believe he ever thought that them being just friends was a good idea in the first place.

Because now its four months later, four months with pretending that Harry doesn't exist and self medicating to truly erase him, and he has never regretted a decision more.

Harry's here right now, and of course he never forgot a single thing about him. The drink was a momentary release from everything. The drugs were a momentary release from everything. But it didn't fix everything like Louis had been convincing himself.

It broke him. 

Louis feels a ball of heat start in his chest, especially when he can see this flirtatious glint in Lauren's eye after Harry's answer. Louis peaks a glance at him from the side to find Harry just as oblivious as always, tucking into the full english breakfast that has arrived in front of him.

Louis's is being set in front of him too, but he thinks he might be sick if he even touches it. The table starts filling with all of their food, a plate of toast sitting in the middle of the table, Liam's bacon looking extra fatty, Zayn's eggs looking raw, and Niall's sausage sticking half out of his mouth, grease running down his chin. The smells are suffocating Louis, his hangover deciding to make a spontaneous reappearance. He doesn't understand. Normally a full english helps him recover. Normally the smell and the promise of grease is enough to magically cure him, but right now his stomach is doing flips and clenching around nothing.

He feels hot. Too hot. He doesn't even think he's seeing straight, bright white spots forming in front of his eyes. He blinks hard, trying to clear them, but they're still their. He feels like he's underwater, pressure building in his ears, the other boys sounding distant and muffled as they continue to answer questions. He's pretty sure its Liam talking, but he can't be sure, can't even turn his head to look. He feels unsteady in his chair as his headache returns, splitting anrgily behind his eyes. He can feel the sick in his throat, and he tries swallowing it down, but he knows he's about to throw up over this whole table. 

The chair hits the floor as he stands, but he can't think to pick it up. He just walks to the bathroom in the far corner, dodging all of the tables and chairs on his way. It's like a maze which he can't work out. But he gets there in the end, opening the door to a single, private bathroom.

He thanks the lord that one of the boys won't be able to follow him in as he locks himself inside and starts throwing up in the toilet bowl. It's sour in his mouth, alcohol being its base. The only thing he's eaten in the last twelve hours is the crisps and peanuts they gave out in the meeting.

He can't imagine why he's throwing up so much. But he can't seem to stop. Every time he thinks he's done, there's another load coming up. 

He doesn't know how long he's sitting on his knees, the grime around the floor where it meets the toilet making him gag, but his stomach finally stops clenching. He rests against the cold wall, his skin hot and wet with sweat, but his are hands cold and keep trembling. He almost wants to sit and cry right there, but he doesn't know how long he's been in here, and he knows the interview is still going on.

He stands with the support of the wall and sink. He looks in the small, round mirror above, water spots covering the lower part of it. His face is pale and looks waxy, his fringe stuck to his forehead, and he wets his hands, splashes his face with the water like its going to do something drastic to his appearance. It doesn't, but it does help to cool him down slightly as he lets it drip down his forearms.

He walks out of the bathroom to find Zayn standing there, leaning against the wall. 

"You alright, mate?" 

"Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Louis's voice comes out hoarse and it stings to talk.

"Well I just heard you throw up for a continuous five minutes. People aren't usually alright when they do that." Zayn's giving him that look, the look that Louis hardly ever gets from Zayn. It's the one that tells Louis that Zayn is being serious. Responsible. Concerned. Louis huffs, looking down at his hands that are playing in front of him. 

"Just a hangover," he mutters. He knows Zayn's mind is pulling up the images of Louis stumbling out of the club, nearly falling over in the street. Or maybe the video where he's all up in some guys face like he's going to beat the shit out of him. Or maybe any of the other many instances that have happened recently that Louis doesn't remember the next day until he finds his face splashed all over his news feed. He always feels like he's looking at someone pretending to be him.

"You were fine in the meeting. That wasn't the face of someone with a hangover bad enough to completely empty your insides out in a public bathroom."

Louis avoids his gaze, even when Zayn takes a step closer. He can feel Zayn's stubborness telling him that they're not walking back to the table until Louis tells him something that is reasonable for why he nearly just passed out. Louis sighs. 

"I think I just had a panic attack."

There's a silence for a beat or two, but then Zayn's pulling him into his arms, a brotherly hug that holds too much love for Louis to process right now. But he hugs back, sinks into the human touch that he feels so deprived of. 

"Lou, what the hell. I didn't realise it was that bad." 

"Neither did I." Louis's attempt at a laugh falls flat. Zayn just squeezes him a little tighter. 

"Do you know how it started? Like, what triggered it?"

"No. I think maybe my emotions are just all over the place today. I really did have a hangover this morning, and then I felt sick before seeing Harry because I was so nervous, ya know? But then I saw him and everything felt fine. There wasn't really any awkwardness, no anger like I thought there would be. He seemed fine which made me think I was fine too. But then it all just came back to me. I couldn't deal with it, I shouldn't have let him go to Italy." Louis thinks he might just start crying into Zayn's shoulder right here. 

"Oh, Lou. You didn't even know he was going to go. None of us did. You couldn't have stopped him."

"Well, then, I shouldn't have let us both give up so easily. Why the fuck did we give up? We never give up."

Zayn's just hushing him, stroking his head. 

"We need to go back to the table. Do you think you can sit through the rest of the interview? Or do you want me to take you back to your car? Or even straight home?"

Louis's heart swells with affection. He can't belive he's been so shitty to everyone the last few months. He can't believe Zayn is still his friend, still willing to help him. 

"No, I'm okay. Let's just get back there and wrap it up as soon as possible." 

Zayn nods, gives him one last squeeze before pulling away from him, letting Louis walk back out in front of him to the table. He gets there and everyone's eyes are on him, confusion and concern in each of their faces except Lauren who just looks pissed that two memebers of her interview just disappeared. But Louis does notice that her chair has been shuffled closer to Harry's. He feels the bile in his throat again but he ignores it. He doesn't think there's anything left to throw up anyway.

He takes his place again, someone having picked up his chair, and he feels Harry burning holes into the side of his face. Louis sits on his hands in an attempt to stop them shaking with after shocks. He breathes through his mouth so he can't smell the food and leaves his plate alone, his food going untouched.

When he looks around at the rest of the table, they're all oddly quiet, looking down at their food and playing with it, Niall even swirling his drink around, letting the base of his cup grate against the wood of the table in slow circles. Louis thinks the quietness was just due to his return, but it goes on for too long.

He looks at each of their faces, all of them looking sheepish and not directly at him, Liam even looking to his left and out of the front windows like he's just seen some mythical creature running down the street and is trying to decide whether it was his imagination or not. The only one who looks just as confused as he is is Zayn. Clearly they missed something. 

"Do you have any last questions? Louis's not feeling to good and wants to get home," Zayn says to Lauren, who only clears her throat and gives a tiny shake of the head. 

"Great. Let's go then, Louis." Zayn stands up, grabbing his jacket and coming round to Louis's chair.

Once Louis is up, he feels Zayn's hand on his elbow, not holding him up or dragging him, just there, comforting. He can feel Harry's eyes still trained on him, having never left since he rejoined the table. He chances a glance at him, only to see his eyebrows pulled tight in a mix of confusion, shock and concern.

Yeah, Louis's used to that look by now. Just not from Harry.

He gives a weak wave to everyone, telling them he'll see them soon, and they all nod in agreement, giving him genuine smiles that help to ease the insecurity in him that says they're mad at him or something, before he turns to leave. But he feels a small tug on his wrist, and he turns to find Harry swivelled in his chair and leaning forward slightly to catch him. 

"Feel better," is all he says, his eyes big and pleading, as if its a request more than a wish. Louis can't even react, this being the first time Harry's said something to him directly. And it's so sincere. 

"What the hell was that all about?" Louis asks Zayn when they get outside into the cool September air, the burn of Harry's touch on his wrist throbbing. 

"Fuck if I know."

*

A few days later, they're all being called in for a studio session.

Louis is already awake when his alarm goes off, another night where he barely slept at all. He's run out of drink and he hasn't had time to go out to get more, so for the last few nights he's been going to bed unusually sober. He did manage to find some weed in his drawer, so he's been rationing that out until he aquires another bottle. It's doesn't have the knock out effect that drinking does, but it does make him feel slightly sedated and calm. 

He has to admit that not drinking makes him wake up feeling like his whole body isn't about to collapse on him, but he craves the dizziness that it gives him, the way it slurs all of his thoughts till he can't think anymore. That's all he wants - to not think. 

He arrives at the studio, a little bit late, his eyes drooping as he walks through the doors. Everybody else is already there, shouting loudly and random instruments being played over the top of each other as Niall bangs on the piano and Liam fiddles with the audio console. Louis's thankful that he doesn't have a headache that can be effected by this. 

He spots Harry sitting on the floor, long legs folded over each other, guitar in his lap. His t-shirt looks soft as his fingers pick at the strings. 

"You look like a zombie mate," Zayn comes round from behind him, a tray full of teas and coffees in his hands. 

Louis hums. "Didn't sleep much last night."

Zayn looks at him quizzically, flicking his gaze between each of Louis's eyes, studying him. 

"I'm not hungover if that's what your thinking," Louis bites, his voice low. A brief look of relief passes across Zayn's face before he schools his expression, offering the tray towards Louis so he can take one of the drinks. 

"How comes?" 

The fact that Zayn even asks that makes Louis's cheeks flush, like he expects Louis to be drunk or hungover, expects that he's going to come in complaining about his head and trying to secretly sleep in one of the arm chairs in the room. 

"I actually haven't had a drink in a few days now. Haven't you heard drinking isn't good for you?" Louis jokes in an attempt to let Zayn know he's okay, it's not something serious that he needs to worry over or ask questions about. Louis's handling it. 

Zayn chuckles, giving him a smile. "As a matter of fact I have. Pretty sure I'm the genius that told you that valuable piece of information. But seriously, Lou, that's good. It'll probably take a little while for your body to get used to it, but you'll get there."

Louis feels bad for letting Zayn believe that he's giving up drinking, but he doesn't want to disappoint him.

He can't believe he didn't see how much the other boys cared, how much they were willing to help. He remembers, in the beginning, Niall was always round his house, ordering him food, watching films with him, getting him into bed when he'd had one too many drinks with dinner, filling up the space where Harry used to be with his loud laugh. He remembers Liam always hovering around him, guiding him into meeting rooms and reminding him of their schedule, always there to fall back on. Louis used to want them all to leave him alone, frustrated that they weren't letting him do what he wanted to do. That's when he started going out, to get away from them and be with people who didn't care what number drink he was on, or whether he had eaten a proper meal before coming out. He didn't want anyone interfering. He wanted to lash out and do what he wanted when he wanted. 

He gives Zayn a small but grateful smile before he's turning to go sit with Liam who now has a notebook open in his lap.

Louis actually despises that notebook. They all have their own to write down any song ideas, lyrics, concepts, melodies, that type of thing. But the one Liam is holding is the group one, the one they write their ideas in all together once they've narrowed them down to help them build songs.

Louis hasn't been able to contribute anything other than soppy, heartbroken words that would come to him right then and there in the room when he was half passed out. The others think the words are pieces of art, but to Louis they're the weakness that he was trying to get over. He's annoyed at his body for not listening to him when he told himself not to say them out loud. But it's hard to stay in control of yourself when you don't even know what day it is.

He sighs, sitting on the arm of Liam's chair, and peers over his sholdour at the book. It's just scribbles really, a big mess of everyone's handwriting, ideas upon ideas that they've all added to try and get something out of it. They have a few songs written and completed, ready for recording, but there's still quite a few that they need to complete an album. It's frustrating them all to no end since they only have a few months left to get it done, and they want to do as much of the writing themsleves, hense why its only them occupying the studio today. 

"Any luck?" he asks Liam, who's face is concentrated and tight as he re-reads the same words they've been staring at for weeks now. 

"Nothing else is coming to mind. But Harry obviously has some of his songs that he wrote, they might be good for the album. And he added some ideas here too." Liam points to Harry's familiar scrawl on the bottom right of the page that is just a mess of words, making Louis peer at it closely to distinguish what Harry wrote from what was already there. 

_Where do broken hearts go?_

Louis hums thoughtfully as Liam flips the page to the next, which is just as crammed as the one before. Where do broken hearts go? Louis doesn't know what it means, and he doesn't want to. Harry's thoughts feel so distant to him now, something so unfamiliar and foreign that he doesn't even want to ponder over it all. 

The day drags out, all of them constantly going back to the notebook, even pulling out their own to see if they have anything else that could turn into a good song. They come up helpless each time, and they're all getting bored and tired, Louis even playing a game of mini basketball at one point with Niall (who absolutely smashes him at it) using the scrunched up lyrics that are of no use to them, whilst also avoiding any contact with Harry except from when they're passing each other the song book. 

Louis promised himself he wouldn't think about Harry's words, but the image of his lopsided scrawl on the yellowed page is stuck in his mind.

He's sitting in the arm chair, curled in on himself with a sheet of paper pressed against his thighs, and he's playing with some lyrics in his head, basing them around Harry's idea. It's the first time he's felt something spark in him, an eagerness he hasn't felt in a long time. It excites him, the thought of having a song idea, and he tries to look over the fact that they're Harry's lyrics. 

He looks around the studio. Liam and Zayn are hunched over the notebook like something's going to jump out at them if they just stare hard enough, Harry's now taken to laying down on the floor, guitar pressed against his chest despite having given up playing it a long time ago, and Niall's at the piano, soft melodies trickling out of his fingers. 

Louis almost asks Harry for the guitar, but he decides to get one off of the wall instead. He sits back in the arm chair, gently tuning it and fiddling with some chords until he has something that somewhat resembles the beat in his head. It takes him a while considering he's an amateur at all instruments, but he manages to get a four chord tune, although he thinks he might have made one of them up. 

He hums the tune in his head, and he thinks it fits well enough. He's trying to picture it as an professionally produced song, where the beat drops would be, what the bridge could sound like. It's the quickest a song idea has ever come to him, and he barely has a chorus, but it's something. 

"Do you have something?" Harry's craning his neck off the floor, peering at Louis like a curious cat. Louis stares at him, his innocent eyes wide and hopeful, and with a quick glance around the room, Louis realises that nobody else is paying attention to him, so he has no choice but to engage with Harry. 

"I think so." Harry doesn't seem content with the answer, so he continues. "I don't know if it will go anywhere, but it might be something." Harry's still just staring at him, and Louis's gaze travel down to his throat, watching it bob so he doesn't have to look in his eyes. "You know what you wrote in the notebook? Where do broken hearts go?"

He watches Harry gulp again, and he quickly redirects his eyes down to his fingers that fiddle at the strings, his neck feeling hot. 

"I based it off of that. I had a few things written down, just random lines that didn't really mean anything, but i think I've been able to do something with it."

He starts to play the guitar, making sure he has the right beat he wants, and then he starts to sing, softly, almost a hum, just so Harry gets the idea without him having to give a performance. He knows Harry will get it, always has done. 

He tries not to flinch when Harry comes closer to hear him on the floor, tries not to let his voice shake.

_Yeah it took me some time but i figured out  
How to fix up a heart that i let down_

_Now I'm searching every lonely place  
Every corner calling out your name  
Tryna find you but I just don't know  
Where do broken hearts go?_

It's short, but its more than they've had in a while, and Harry's looking at him in slight amazement, making him want to squirm in his seat. 

"Louis..." he breathes. 

Louis squeezes his eyes shut as his stomach swirls before looking down at Harry. He's sitting like a child waiting for story time, face open and awed. And then he licks his lips and he's giving Louis this huge grin that makes butterflies erupt in his chest and beat against his ribs. 

"Ladies and gentleman, Louis Tomlinson does it again," Harry says, loud enough for the other boys to hear whilst his eyes are still trained on Louis.

The other boys all snap their heads to them, and then they're bounding over from all different corners, crowding around Louis in the armchair.

"Do you really have something?" Niall is snatching Louis's sheet of lyrics. Everyone's silent as they read over Niall's shoulders.

"Louis, this is the first thing we've had in weeks that's actually worth something," Liam says, flicking at the paper. 

Louis looks down at the guitar in his lap, his face red but a proud smirk on his face. 

"Yeah, this is actually really good," Niall's nodding, eyes wide with excitement. "We could definitely build on this," he's shuffling away to the piano, beckoning Louis over. 

And so they get a basic tune, one that has potential. Niall is like a puppy that can't stop bouncing around, his energy skyroacketing at the prospect of having another song, and Zayn's grinning proudly as he sits to write up the lyrics neatly in another song book. Louis hasn't felt this happy in ages, his heart feeling a little lighter at the buzz in the room, the proud slaps to his back the other boys give him making him delighted despite the sting of his skin. 

The session is more successful than any of them thought it would be, and they're all happy with the outcome of a new song. But Louis starts feeling tired again, the satisfaction of the day fizzling out, his adrenaline wearing off and his body becoming more placid and difficult to move. He's desperate for his sleep schedule to get back to normal, but he has no idea where to start, has no idea how much longer his weird dreams will last or the panicked sweats that wake him up more often than not. 

He pulls himself out of the room whilst the boys are lazing about on the floor, celebratory drinks being passed around between them that he had to decline when Zayn gave him a look. He's hoping that the fresh air outside the building will wake him up a little bit more, but it's actually an unusually warm day for late September, and he finds that the temperature outside is basically the same as inside.

He pulls off his hoodie and throws it over his shouldor, leaving him in a plain white shirt that he honestly thought was his own but couldn't be sure; Harry had left a lot of clothes in their house. _His_ house. At first Louis left them all in the wardrobe and drawers, but then he ended up wearing most of them whilst he cried on the sofa as he watched Dirty Dancing or went out for the night, the coconut smell still lingering and offering him some comfort, although he refused to admit that. He told himself that Harry's clothes were just nicer, softer, because he always took care of them, unlike his own on which he threw on the floor and only picked them up when he was doing washing. But the shirt he was wearing now had either lost Harry's smell or was simply never Harry's to begin with. The low scoop of the neck indicates that its too big for him, so maybe it was Harry's. 

He pulls out a cigarette, lighting it whilst holding it between his lips, his palm coming up to shield it from the wind. The first puff of smoke always makes Louis's skin tingle, the nicotine settling into his bloodstream and calming him. He's been smoking even more in the last few days due to not having a drink, and it helps to clear his mind just a little.

He's half way through the cigarette when the door opens, and out walks Harry, coming to stand in front of where he's leant against the wall. Louis watches him as he scratches his bicep, goose bumps rising on his skin at the wind. 

"Hey," he mutters, almost shyly.

"Hi." Louis takes another drag, begging the smoke to settle the butterflies a little as he shifts his feet, trying to back further out of Harry's space that he's barely in anyway. This is the longest they've been alone, not including them walking down the stairs together, and Louis hasn't felt so awkward and uncomfortable since he was a teenager. 

Harry looks at him, and Louis can't read his expression. His brows are furrowed, and Louis watches his eyes dart down to the cigarette in his hand suspiciously before he shakes out of it and meets Louis's eyes. 

"We think we're done for the day. The others are packing up now. Liam said we'll come back next week maybe, try and carry on from where we left off. He doesn't want us to over do it today."

His voice is soft and deep, the slow drawl that Louis knows only gets more monotone in the mornings when he's still half asleep with tired eyes and puffy lips, and it's the most he's said to Louis in so long. He glances at his lips now, and they're just as pink as ever, wrapping around his words tenderly.

Louis forces his gaze back up to Harry's curious eyes.

Harry's constantly got this unsure face whenever they're around each other now, like he doesn't want to overstep, doesn't want to do the wrong thing. It's annoying, to be honest, because Harry never used to have that look around Louis, never had any boundaries around him, never held himself back. He never looked like he was so unaware of everything Louis was thinking, because he just _knew_. Nothing was ever unsure between them, never uncertain. But now he can see the way Harry almost battles with himself, and Louis feels the same thing.

"Great." He crushes the cigarette against the wall, taking his hoodie off his shoulder. He's about to walk away, put some distance back between them, but Harry stops him. 

"Um, I've actually been meaning to talk to you about something." He's not meeting Louis's eyes, looking at their shoes which are closer than Louis would like, his hands twiddling in front of him. Louis balances himself properly on his feet, peering at Harry, confused. 

"This is going to sound really weird, but I actually kind of need your help. A favour."

Louis's brain freezes. Help? A favour?

Harry looks up at him when he doesn't answer, his eyes slightly pleading and it almost breaks Louis right there on the street, seeing a desperate boy that he used to love. 

"Of course, what is it?"

Of course he regrets it. 

"I need you to come and stay with me. Only for a week or so." 

What? _What?_

"What?" he chokes out, his throat begging for another cigarette. 

"Okay, so, basically, I um...I never told my mum about us splitting, and then I went to Italy and couldn't contact her and talk to her at all. And now I'm back, and she still doesn't know, but she's coming down for the week, Gemma too. They want to come see me, and they're asking about you. My mum's already booked dinner for us and everything. So, um, basically what I'm asking is if you could... you know - just for a week, only a week- just be like before."

_Just be like before. Just be like before?_

Louis doesn't think he remembers how to automatically breathe. He does remember how to hit something though, and he certainly wants to right now. His throat burns, protesting, demmanding to have smoke filling it, or even a sinful drink sliding down it, anything that will distract it from the pain of not being able to take in oxygen. Is Harry really asking this of him? Asking him to play house in front of his mum and sister? 

"Are you joking?" Louis's laugh is manical as he stares at Harry, laughing at the actual audacity. 

"Lou.." Harry's voice is soft, and it only makes Louis angry. He straightens, the laughter gone. He eyes Harry, realising he's deadly serious, actually looking like he's ready to beg Louis to do it. 

"Harry, you can't ask that of me." His voice is hard, distant to his own ears. He can't believe they're even having this conversation. 

"Lou, believe me, I wish I wasn't asking this, I really do. But, please."

Louis looks at him, actually horrified. 

"Why don't you just tell her what happened? That we're no longer together. Why lie to her?"

"Lou, she only lost Robin six months ago. She's still struggling, so much."

Louis remembers, remembers the phone call Harry got, remembers rocking him to sleep for a few weeks and drying his tears. He remembers visiting Anne, the whole family distraught. But Anne was the worst, of course. She'd just lost her husband. He had been everything to her. She wouldn't leave the house, wouldn't even cry. She would just sit there and blank everyone out, isolate herself. He remembers helping Harry make her meals, bringing them to her, hugging her tight like he could help. But even Harry and Gemma couldn't help. It hurt Louis to see Harry so hurt, the whole family so hurt. They were his family too. 

"And then I left for four months, couldn't even talk to her, couldn't be there for her," Harry continues. Louis snaps back into the conversation, and he wants to scream at Harry. 

"Who's fault is that?" His voice is cold, but he has to focus on his anger to stop the trace of hurt leaving with it. Harry flinches, but he takes it. 

"Mine, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have gone."

And that... Louis didn't expect that. He's surprised to hear that Harry regretted leaving. He felt as though Harry thought it was the best decision he's ever made. 

"Please, Lou," Harry's voice is so low, so soft, so gentle, so desperate. It makes the heat in Louis go out as easy as blowing out a candle. "You know she's always seen you as a son. I don't think she can afford to lose another family member right now."

Louis's heart gives a small twinge, and he sighs, a heavy and loaded sigh, and he's still hurt, still angry, but he can't say no. He finds himself nodding, his voice gone and his eyes directed at the wall. 

"Really?" Harry's looking at him, the same awed look he gave him in the studio when he wrote the song. Louis just nods again, not trusting the words that would come out, but then Harry's hugging him, physically crushing their bodies together, and he thinks he might just be okay. 

***

It's early, too early for a Saturday, but Louis is pulling up outside Harry's house, his stuff all in bags in the back of his car. He finally stocked back up the alcohol cupboard in his kitchen, and he needed it more than ever to get to sleep last night. He can still feel it's effects swimming through him, having to drive extra careful on his way down here, but he welcomes the giddy feeling in his head that fills in the silence when he shuts off the engine.

Anne is meant to be here in an hour, Gemma not coming down for a few more days, and Louis hopes he can survive the week. It's ridiculous how much Louis had to hype himself up since he agreed to this, not having the heart to call Harry up for the first time in forever just to break his heart and tell him in didn't want to do this. So here he is, climbing out of his car and lugging his bags up Harry's front steps. 

He rings the doorbell, and he hears movement on the other side, a grunt that indicates Harry just hurt himself, and then he's opening the door, standing in front of Louis like a God. He's still in just his sweatpants and a t-shirt that sticks to him in all the right places, and Louis thinks he's about to fall back down the stairs, his bags dragging him down with a sudden weight. 

"Hi," Harry says, a small smile on his face.

"Hi."

They stand looking at each other, Louis shifting under Harry's stare until a gust of wind messes with his hair and makes him shiver. 

"Oh, sorry. Come in, come in."

They're both silent, awkward, as Harry leads him threw. Louis's never been here before, Harry only having lived here since he got back. It's a nice house, the hallways all long and housing quite a few guest rooms, and the living room extends into a kitchen, open and spacious as they walk through to the stairs. It's already decorated, Harry obviously having someone come and do it whilst he was away. The overall theme is black and white, simple but aesthetically pleasing, and the bookshelves are filled, pictures are hung, the blinds are up.

It's cosy, and the fact that it looks like Harry's lived here all along is a sucker punch to Louis's stomach. 

Harry takes him to his bedroom. 

"You can put your stuff in here. The en suite's just there if you ever want to use it," Harry says, gesturing to a door on the other side of the room.

Louis places his bags at the end of the bed, stroking the silk covers so he doesn't have to turn back round and look at Harry. He can't believe he's doing this. They haven't been around each other in so long, and now Louis's standing alone with him in his bedroom, preparing to act like everything is how it used to be, all because he can't say no to Harry. He's going to have to work on that to avoid these situations in the future.

Louis can't stare at the bed any longer, Harry shuffling behind him. He turns, and there's this moment where they're both just standing there, looking everywhere but each other. Louis is already regretting having agreed to this. After he had nodded that fatal day, he had gone home and smoked through a whole pack to calm himself down. He didn't know what to expect, didn't have any idea what had possessed him to agree, but he had. He had to keep telling himself that it was only Harry. They had practically lived together since they met. One more week wouldn't hurt. But Louis knew deep down that this was going to be torture. Four months of pretending Harry didn't exist, along with their history. Four months of burying everything so deep Louis lost himself in the process. And now he's willingly going back for a limited time.

He feels like he's been offered a deal from the devil and sold his soul for it - one last week of loving Harry. But Louis lost his soul the minute Harry was gone, so changes had to be made to the deal to compensate; he was allowed this week with Harry, but there were boundaries that weren't there before. 

"Do you want tea?" Harry breaks his trance. He finds he was staring at the blank wall to his left, probably looking like a right idiot. 

Louis nods and they leave the bedroom, going back downstairs to the kitchen. 

"Go sit down. I'll bring the tea in."

Louis shuffles his socked feet against the hard wood floors until he reaches the edge of the rug in the middle of the living room. There's photos above the the tv on the wall, and Louis steps closer, examining. He sees all the same photos that used to be up in their house, only now on a different wall. There's the one of Harry and Gemma, sitting on the sofa together on Harry's birthday. Louis remembers taking it, the way Harry had blushed when Gemma had shoved him down next to her and made Louis snap the picture of them both grinning, blinded by the flash Louis hadn't realised was on.

Next to that one is a picture of them with the boys. They're huddled close together, both of them on the end, arms wrapped around each other's waists whilst the other boy's arms are slung around each other's shoulders. It was actually in their first house together, at the first party they held. They look immensely proud of themselves, and he remembers how long it took them to clean the place the next day.

Louis's eyes gravitate to the next photo. It's of just the two of them, from when they were in South Africa. Louis remembers it so clearly, the uncomfortable heat of the sun and the other boys all piling on to the golf cart. There hadn't been enough room for Harry to fit on, but Louis had just opened his arms and allowed Harry to climb into his lap. And of course Niall had squealed and pulled out his camera on them. 

He had been so happy then, being with all of his friends, acting like they were on holiday when they were really there for work, sneaking on to boat parties, causing a rucus in restaurants, running around the hotel till early hours of the morning with their securtiy chasing after them. Louis can't help but smile at the memories, despite the hollow feeling it gives him.

There's a small cough behind him, and he turns to find Harry standing there with two cups of tea in his hands. Louis keeps the smile on his face and takes the cup before sitting down on the long sofa. It's soft and deep, letting him sink so far back that his feet dangle above the floor. Harry seems to hide a snicker behind his hand as he takes a seat next to him, earning a glare from Louis. Harry only offers a hand in surrender, but the smirk is still on his lips. 

"So, we should probably talk about some stuff," Harry says. Louis just takes a small sip of the tea, his throat bobbing with nerves. 

"Obviously we won't do anything you don't want to do, but, like, my mum might think it's a bit weird if we don't even touch. We've got to act some what normal."

Normal. Louis doesn't even know what normal is anymore. Nothing is _normal_ about living with your ex boyfriend for a week after having not spoke to him for four months, just to play pretend in front of said ex boyfriend's mother. _Normal_ isn't driving yourself insane until you're in self destrustion mode and can't even sleep at night. _Normal_ isn't tip toeing around each other like you're unsure who the other person is, what they want. Louis doesn't think that after a break up people _normally_ see each other nearly everyday at work and out with friends, or have to appear together in front of cameras and people that want to peer into their lives and dissect it open. Nothing is _normal_. 

"Well, I don't really mind," Louis says instead.

"So like, touching, and hugging, and kissing and stuff. You don't mind that?"

Kissing. That would be new. They've already hugged a few times, and Louis never knows whether he wants to push out of it and run or curl even deeper into Harry's arms. He hasn't kissed Harry since the day they broke up, since he wiped Harry's tears with the sleeve of his jumper, kissed him gently, told him he loved him and that they would be okay.

Of course, everything went down hill from there.

He had been so worried about how Harry would be effected, but it was himself he should have been worried about. He's the one that crumbled whilst Harry came back from Italy looking even better than when he left. The thought of kissing Harry again makes his tongue feel swollen. He wonders if he would still kiss the same, still taste the same. Maybe he learnt some new skills whilst in Italy. 

Harry's still looking at him, his face straining like he's nervous for Louis's answer. Louis notices that he's sort of frozen on the sofa, his hand squeezing his mug, making his palm burn slightly. But then he's nodding, because that's all he seems to be doing when he's around Harry these days.

Harry's face lights up and he tries to conceal it by looking down at his lap, but Louis sees it. It makes a warmth spread through his chest. 

"Okay, well I need to go for a shower real quick, but I won't be long," Harry stands up, taking Louis's now empty mug with him and placing it in the sink along with his own. "Watch some telly, do whatever you want. You do live here after all." He throws in a subtle wink before he bounds out of the room and up the stairs, leaving Louis a little stunned and breathless. 

Louis does end up watching tv, finding some random game show that he can mindlessly stare at. He doesn't know what he's doing with himself in all honesty. He kind of guessed that they would have to do this kind of thing, but he hadn't really considered it. They would basically be living in each other's pockets for the week, and Louis can't get over the contrast of four months with no Harry to pretending to have the relationship they once had.

His mind keeps playing over it, again and again. If someone had told him two weeks ago that he would be in this situation, he would have laughed. That was the boys reaction, too, when they told them. They had all doubled over, Niall's laugh actually turning hysterical. But when they explained, they received more concerned and nervous laughs than humorous laughs. Zayn had shot him a look as if to say 'you know what your getting yourself into right?' and Louis didn't really have an answer for him. 

He's only been watching the game show for around fifteen minutes when the doorbell goes. He straightens, and upon opening the door he finds Anne, huddled in a coat due to the weather making a turn for the worst a couple days ago.

She practically shrieks when she sees him, barrels her way through the front door, suitcase dumped on the ground. Louis's mind is too slow to catch up before his arms are full of her, her hair in his mouth and her sweet perfume warming his chest in familiarity.

He laughs into her ear, not realising how much he had missed her. She had always been like a second mum to him, just as his own mum was too Harry. 

"Louis!" She's leaning back now, still in his arms but now agressively kissing his cheeks. Over his own giggles, he can hear Harry coming up behind them, his low voice reaching them. 

"Alright, mum, don't smother him, Jesus."

And then Anne is spinning out of Louis's arms and towards Harry, even louder squeals being pulled from her at the sight of her son.

Louis and Anne are around the same height, so when it looks like Harry is literally engulfing her when he wraps her in a hug, Louis can't help but wonder if he looks that small in his arms. Anne won't stop shrieking, and Louis can see Harry's dimple popping out as he holds her, his eyes closed, content. He can't help but smile himself when Harry kisses her forehead tenderly.

"Why the fuck do you look like a hippie?" 

Louis can't help but burst into laughter as Harry's face drops, offended by his own mother. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Harry, your hair was shorter than this when you put on a wig for halloween. And you've been working out. What did they do to you in Italy? Make you a porn star?"

Louis places a hand over his mouth, trying to keep his laughs at bay, and Harry just gives him an unimpressed look before chuckling himself, swatting at Anne's hands as they tug at his curls and run over his face.

"No, mum. Come on, I'll take your bags upstairs. Louis will go make you tea."

Louis nods, both him and Anne watching as Harry goes back upstairs carrying her suitcase. He gives her a smile, leading her into the kitchen and letting her sit at the breakfast bar before he turns to the cupboards, trying to imagine where everything is to make tea. He feels nervous, knows Anne's eyes are on him. How is she supposed to believe that he's been living here for four months whilst Harry was away when he doesn't even know where the cups are?

"So, Louis, I've been seeing you in the papers recently."

Shit. 

Louis tries to keep his calm, deciding to just wash one of the cups in the sink and use that instead, humming so he doesn't have to formulate an actual answer.

"Looked like you were enjoying yourself." 

He avoids eye contact at all costs, making the tea and trying to stop his hands from shaking. Why didn't he think she would bring this up? She must have seen the pictures that have documented his months of rampage, club after club, fight after fight, story after story.

He turns to her, tea in hand, and instead of finding her looking stern, she has a teasing smirk and tilt of her eyebrow, the same look she gave him when she figured out Louis and Harry were more than friends nearly four years ago, the same look she had given him when they had spent the easter break at her house that one time and come down one morning flushed and out of breath, giggling and looking sheepish. 

He laughs a little breathlessly. 

"Yeah, me and Haz don't get out much when we're together. And the house was often lonely, so sometimes I went out, you know, met a few friends."

Harry walks back into the room, looking at Louis as he does, his face calm but a curiousity in his eyes. Louis can practically see the questions swirling in his head, and he sighs, not wanting to have to explain himself any further, but, luckily, Anne just sips her tea and is distracted by the entrance of her son. There's a moment of confusion on Harry's face, a flicker that is gone before Louis can decipher it.

They spend the morning on the sofa, Anne asking even more questions about Harry's trip than the boys did. Harry is just as excited telling his stories the second time round as he was when he told them for the first. It actually pains Louis's heart to see him talk so happily about a time when Louis thought he was surely about to die. His face lights up as he tells her all about the amazing restaurants he went too, the story about how his air conditioner broke halfway through the trip and led to him having heat stroke, about how it was peaceful there by the sea and he had managed to write more than he expected. Anne laughs along with him at any trivial stories, staring in wonder at his explanations of the places he went, smiling warmly when she saw how much he had enjoyed his time away. Louis has to squeeze his tea between his thighs and let out tight laughs. And then Anne turns to him.

"I bet you missed him," she sighs sadly. And Louis nods, chancing a glance at Harry's face which looks a little sad, a little sorry. 

"Very much," Louis whispers, looking directly into Harry's eyes. There's an odd silence, but then Harry's getting up and making more tea, and Anne is flicking through the channels, saying something about there being nothing good on tv anymore. Louis forces a laugh, but it's strained, distant. She doesn't seem to notice. 

And that's pretty much how the first day of they're fake relationship goes. They just talk and talk, questions, more questions, more talk. It's nice, and Louis's starting to feel more comfortable, less like he's about to dissociate any minute and finally lose any attatchment to the slither of reality he has left. He feels warmer every time Harry gives him a cup of tea, every time he offers him a genuine smile, every time he shuffles just a little bit closer to Louis. Maybe it won't be so bad after all. 

*

It's coming up to 11 o'clock when Anne finally bids them goodnight, shrugging the blanket off of her shoulders and going up to bed. The TV's still running, the sound of the film they had playing a nice background noise for Louis. He had lost concentration only half an hour in, his head lolling against the back of the chair, his eyes still trained on the moving pictures but his mind seemingly blank.

But he suddenly feels more aware with Anne not in the room, and he can see the shape of Harry's body next to him on the sofa, his long legs spread wide, feet lying on the floor in opposite directions. He shifts a few times, and Louis feels almost paralysed, unable to move from his spot, even though he's noticing the ache in his neck which must have been their for quite some time. Harry finally settles again in a position practically identicle to before, and he lets out a heavy sigh.

It's not awkward exactly, but they haven't spent much alone time together since they got back. And why would they? They've only seen each other at the studio, and the boys are always there to fill the silence hanging between the two of them, always there to take away that awkward edge that sits heavily whenever one of them walks into the room. 

Louis's unsure whether to start a conversation, maybe comment on the film, although he has no idea what's going on in it. But he stops himself, because its never been awkward with Harry. He's never felt the need to say something for the sake of it, never felt the need to come up with something - anything - just so they aren't sitting in a uncomfortable silence. They've never _been_ uncomfortable, not even when they first met. They had been introduced by some other kid trying out for X-factor, and then they were put into the same band, and they hadn't been able to seperate from that moment on.

Louis's lost in his own head, lost in the memories of a chubby faced Harry with tighter curls and a boyish charm that he would never really lose. Memories of a Harry with lanky limbs and soft hips that he would also never lose.

Louis wonders if his hips are still as soft now, even after four months of working out and getting bulkier in Italy. He can feel his hand twitching against his thigh, an incessant want to reach out and feel, feel any part of the man next to him, feel how much he's changed and feel if anything resembles the boy he used to hold in his arms every night. He's scared of what he might find, scared that there's nothing left of the Harry he used to know, nothing left to remind him of what they had, if it was real or just a dream, because Louis's life with Harry seems to be getting more and more distant, and he doesn't know if he should let it go or clutch onto anything he can, anything that will help him remember the life they shared together. The life they built together. 

"Do you want to go up to bed?" Harry's voice seems to bring him back to the sofa, the light of the TV dancing in the dark across the room, casting everything in a horribly cold glow that gives Louis goosebumps. The young boy in his head is gone, just an image of dimples left in his head that flicker out, and Louis is truly left back in reality where everything is so terribly wrong.

He wonders what their younger selves would think of them now, sitting together on a sofa, a foot of space in between them. They would probably stare in horror, a younger Louis reaching to grab at Harry and shove his face in his neck so that he can't see what will become of them, everything they let go of. He can imagine that Harry, the one that was always so naive and optimistic, whispering to Louis that, no, that won't happen to them, they're stronger than that, they can face anything as long as they face it together, and he imagines himself nodding along to everything he's saying because _of course_ they'll face it together, he can't imagine it any other way. His future is Harry. It'll always be Harry. 

"Yes," Louis squeaks, not even chancing a glance in Harry's general direction as he stands.

Going up to bed, getting away from Harry, being alone for a little while will be good. He can pull himself together and prepare himself for the week ahead, maybe even manage to have a secret smoke out the bathroom window or a quick shot of the tequila he spotted when rummaging through Harry's cupboard's for tea bags. He needs it to calm his nerves and all the distressed emotions that are currently tearing him apart and making him want to run as far as possible from this life he's currently living.

But Harry stands up along side him, and he's following him up the stairs, and Louis can't just sit down and say that, actually he's not very tired, because Harry's right behind him, trapping him, not giving him the option to turn back round.

They make it to Harry's room, and Louis slows down, his hands trembling slightly as he walks through the doorway. His change of pace means that Harry is close to his back, so close that Louis thinks he can even feel his breath on the back of his neck. He can't stop himself when he shivers, but then Harry is side stepping him and making his way over to his wardrobe, pulling out pyjamas. 

"You can take the bathroom first," Harry mumbles, his voice low so he doesn't disturb the silent house, and Louis suddenly feels like he's a kid again having a sleepover with his friends, taking turns to get changed in seperate rooms and whispering as they cause mischief whilst parents sleep in the next room.

But there's no mischeif now, no silenced laughter, no games or tricks being played in the dark. No. Now Louis just feels sick and wants to go home, wants his own bed, his own house, his own space where Harry isn't in his line of vision and making him feel like he's seeing ghosts, making him feel like he's gone back in time to where everythings fine, wondeful even, a time where he's happy. 

Louis comes out of the bathroom some time later after having hunted through his bags, changing and brushing his teeth. He tried to make himself look less tired, less like he was literally apart of the walking dead, but he gave up when nothing worked, not even some of the creams that Harry has lining the sink. He figures that this is exactly how Harry has seen him since he got back anyway, so it doesn't really matter.

Harry goes into the bathroom after him, and Louis is left to climb into the bed. It's cold, and he tucks the covers right up to his chin, curling in on himself as he faces the wall. But it smells like Harry, and that seems to warm him internally, as well as making his heart rabbit with nerves. It gets stronger when he hears the bathroom door open, the light shut off, and then the weight of Harry's body climb carefully into the bed beside him.

Harry must think he's asleep because he's being extra careful and slow with his movements as he settles in beside him. But Louis can feel the space between them, knows that they've both curled up at the edge of the bed to avoid any part of them touching, as if they might be able to help each other forget that they're in the same bed. But it's all Louis can think about. He hasn't had someone in the same bed as him since Harry, and it's weird to feel the way the mattress slopes with an additional body, weird to have the distinct, familiar smell cocooning him but its supplier so out of reach.

The last time they slept in the same bed was the night they split. They knew they shouldn't, knew that one of them should go and sleep in the guest room until Harry found another place, but they wanted one last night together. They had stayed up till early hours of the morning, naked and pressed against each other, lips everywhere, hands everywhere, touching as much as they could until they were both too exhausted and mentally drained to carry on. They had curled up, Louis spooning Harry just like they always did, since Louis was still the taller one and could wrap himself over Harry, to that moment, Harry much larger but still the perfect fit for Louis too wrap around his back. 

He hears Harry's soft breathing even out after a while, and it irritates Louis because he knows he's got a long night ahead of him, he knows he can't fall to sleep that easily. He feels nervous again, and he has the thought that maybe he can sneak out of the bed, grab a drink from downstairs. He just wants one drink to help him ease into sleep, anything that will trick his mind into relaxation.

He can feel his leg muscles tensing under the covers, preparing to move and get him out of bed, but once again, he feels almost paralysed. He doesn't want to wake Harry up, doesn't want questions. And there's a part of him that's actually being logical, responsible, telling him that even if he doesn't get caught, he shouldn't have the drink because he'll just wake up tomorrow with a hangover and have to explain anyway.

He decides to listen to it, and he shifts around in the bed gently until he's on his front, arms wrapped underneath his pillows. He hasn't gone to sleep completely sober for a long time, and he's not sure how this is going to go. His face is smushed into the soft fabric and he can feel Harry's body warming bed, the air becoming heavy under the covers. His brain doesn't seem to want to shut down, going over everything and anything that it can drag up, but, after an hour or so, he feels himself become a bit foggy with sleep, and he finally drifts to the sound of Harry's breathing and the smell of coconuts. 

He doesn't know how long it's been, but it couldn't have been long before he's awake again, this time shallow gasps escaping his mouth, sweat dripping down his face and a faint image of Harry - a young Harry - trying to wrap rope around his wrists and pull him out of dark, endless water. He can still feel the imitation of it, cold and crushing up against his chest, smothering him. But young Harry wasn't strong enough, his arms too weak and fumbling, and Louis could feel himself sinking further, as if something had hooked onto his legs and was dragging him down, like he was in quick sand. But then young Harry morphed into older Harry, this new version that was made in Italy, a version definitely strong enough to pull Louis's body out of the water, but he stopped pulling. Instead he just held the rope in his hand, gently untied it from Louis's wrists, stroked the back of his hand so gently Louis thinks he might still feel the tingle on his skin, and then he watched him as he went under. 

Louis shudders as Harry's face replays in his head, sweet and sympathetic, like he was a supportive friend listening to Louis's worries instead of watching him drown. It was like a farewell face, an I'll-see-you-again face, and it makes Louis want to throw up.

He stands up from the bed shakily, trying to be as gentle as possible so that the real Harry next to him isn't disturbed. He finds the bathroom in the dark, being careful to not trip over his bags on the floor and make noise. Only the moonlight illuminates the bathroom from the small window above the toilet, the pattern of the glass reflected out onto the tiled floor. It's enough for him to see as he makes his way to the sink, and he rests against the cold porcelain for a moment.

The house is deadly silent, and it feels eerie to Louis. He watches his own face in the mirror, his skin still slick with sweat, his hair stuck to it, and his eyes are tired and look slightly haunted. He takes some deep breaths, willing his heart to slow down and the blood to stop rushing in his ears, and eventually he feels his body start to untense.

He turns on the tap, cringing at the noise of it in the stillness. He splashes his face with the water, running his hands down to his neck and collarbones to try and keep him cool. He sees the tattoo on his wrist, the rope, and the dream replays again. He wonders if it had any influence on his subconsciousness. It's one of the ones that him and Harry have that link together, Harry having the anchor, and he's always felt a zip of pleasure at the thought that Harry has to think of him every time he looks at his body, but he just feels slightly bitter when he does the same.

He runs the water over his arms as well, because anything to get rid of the slight burning under his skin is appreciated, when he hears shuffling. He looks towards the door, and there's Harry, standing there in his pyjamas, rubbing his knuckle into his eye as he pouts.

They never used to wear pyjamas. 

"What are you doing up?" Harry's voice is rough and it rolls over Louis so nicely. 

"I was hot." Louis shuts off the tap and dries his hands on the towel hanging beneath the sink. 

"You could have opened a window." 

Louis doesn't know what to say to that. Of course he could have opened a window, but that wouldn't have helped him much in cleaning the sweat off his skin or clearing the image of his dream out of his mind. But he doesn't want to explain all of that to Harry right now. 

"Yeah, I guess I could of."

He's about to move past Harry, but Harry's trapping him in the doorway.

"Lou, what's wrong?" his voice is soft now, breaking in places with sleep, and the nickname makes Louis want to cry, to snuggle up under Harry's arms and just let him comfort him. 

"Nothing, I was just hot."

"Lou, you looked like you haven't slept in weeks, what the hells going on with you?"

Louis wants to laugh. It may look like only weeks of sleepless nights on his face, but in reality its months.

When he doesn't say anything, Harry takes his wrist, and it's so close to his dream that he almost chucks his hand off, but the cool touch to his hot skin is rather pleasant as Harry leads him to the toilet, and it makes the butterflies come back.

Harry makes Louis sit on the lid, and Harry sits on the floor, his back up against a cabinet. He's looking at Louis expectantly, and Louis knows Harry can be stubborn, and he's looking at Louis with a face that Louis knows means they won't be moving from the bathroom until he tells him. 

He sighs, but what harm can it really do? He's screwed up, he might as well admit it. 

"I think I have insomnia," Louis mutters, looking down at his lap and playing with a loose thread on the hem of his top. 

Harry doesn't say anything, just stays still and silent, and when Louis looks up at him, his face is concerned but he's listening, staring at Louis with intent. 

"It started a few months back, and I went to the doctor and everything and they gave me some pills, but they didn't work very well. They would only send me into a light sleep, and I would always wake up midway through a panic attack. So I stopped taking them."

He didn't expect to say so much, but Harry is doing what Zayn does, staring at you in silence until you feel the need to chuck words into the empty space. 

Harry's eyes are wide, the corners of his mouth turned down. 

"So you've just been dealing with this?"

"Pretty much. After a while I started to drink a little bit to help get me to sleep. For a while it would knock me out for the whole night, but then it was barely sending me off to sleep anymore."

"Is that why you were out all the time?"

There's a heavy silence. Louis didn't know Harry knew anything about that. He can't imagine himself making it into the Italian magazines, and it wasn't like Harry had his phone to look up the news or check up on twitter or anything. God, the images and stories on twitter make Louis stomach twist with dread. 

"How do you know about that?" His voice is so quiet he's unsure Harry's heard him. 

"The other day, at the interview, when you were...you know. Um, the interviewer asked us about your behaviour," he throws up air quotations around the word. "Obviously, I didn't know anything about it, and Liam ended up answering the question,told the interviewer that you were just having fun, enjoying your twenties. But I asked him after, and he told me."

Louis feels a flicker of anger at Liam, and at the interviewer. He knew something had happened whilst he was throwing up his guts, but he didn't expect that. But the only person Louis has a right to feel angry at is himself. 

"What did he tell you?" Louis can feel the lid of the toilet seat digging into the bottom of his spine, and he shifts as he watches Harry choosing his words in the light casted by the moon. 

"He said you had been going out. A lot. With some people that he didn't think were very good for you. He said you were hungover more than not, and some stories had gotten into the press. He wouldn't tell me much else, but it wasn't hard to look it up."

Louis's breath catches.

Harry looked him up. Harry looked him up and saw everything that he's been up to. He's probably seen the pictures of him stumbling out of the club, Rick's crowd of friends he hung out with surrounding him, draping themselves over him. He's probably seen the pictures of him throwing up in the streets, the pictures of him with joints in his mouth and looking completely out of his head, the pictures of him punching Lee, because of course people had filmed it before even knowing who he was. A fight is a fight and people love the entertainment. He's probably read all of the stories that people leaked to the press, and they're not even lies. He done majority of the things that the articles say he did, and done far worse stuff too. Harry's probably seen his tweets that he doesn't even remember typing out, the ones throwing shade at others and causing arguments that he quickly deleted the next day. But people were quick to screenshot and reposted them everywhere.

_Harry looked him up._

Louis drops his head in his hands, his thighs trembling under his elbows. The heels of his palms dig into his eye sockets and make him see spots of colour, trying to push the embarassment and shame out. He takes a few deep breaths to settle the thoughts in his head.

"Yeah, that's why I started going out," he mutters, lifting his head and dropping his arms. Harry's still looking at him, and it's the same look he gets from the others, but Harry's holds something else. Louis can't quite place it. 

"Did it help?" Harry asks after a beat or two. 

"Of course it didn't. It made my sleeping worse, and I was hungover all the time. My body feels like it's deteriorating and I can't do anything to stop it. I still can't sleep, I get headaches in the afternoons almost consistently, I can barely keep myself upright at times. The drinking only made me black out, do stuff I didn't remember, do stuff I didn't want to do."

"So you've stopped then?"

Louis stays quiet. 

"Sounds like you're having withdrawal symptoms."

Louis almost chokes.

"I'm not an alcoholic, Harry." His voice is hard and sharp, but he's not sure he even believes himself. Maybe he is an alcoholic. But he can't be. No, of course he's not. He isn't addicted to drink, he just uses it too help him sleep. He's _not_ an alcoholic.

They stay silent for a while, both of them shifting in their uncomfortable positions. 

"Do you know why you have insomnia?" Harry asks. 

"The doctors seem to think I'm under a lot of stress. And, um, they asked me what I thought could be stressing me out. I couldn't think of anything. But they asked if anything has changed in my life, or will be changing. The only thing I could think of was you."

Harry stares at him for a long time, his mouth open and eyes even wider. Louis can hear his unsteady breaths. 

"Me?"

"Yeah. It was right after we'd split up, and you'd left. I don't know. I wasn't aware of it, but the doctors think my body went into distress," Louis laughs with it, trying to make it a joke, but Harry's face doesn't change. "They said that I was probably so used to having you physically with me all the time and then you just disappeared. They think my body thought it was grieving." There's no laughter in his voice anymore. 

He had finally opened up to his doctors, and they wanted to send him to therapy. He was not going to therapy, no matter how many times they recommended it. There's nothing wrong with therapy, but he doesn't think a break up is a reason to go, is all. 

The choked sound Harry makes in his throat seems to trigger a few tears to slip out, and he scrambles forward, rising off the floor just enough to wrap his arms around the top of Louis's shoulders. 

"I'm so sorry, Louis. I'm so, so, so sorry." His voice is steady, but Louis can feel his tears making his neck damp. 

"It's alright, Haz. It wasn't your fault. We didn't know how dependant I was on you," he tries to joke again, but it falls flat, because it's not a joke. It's the truth. 

Harry pulls away from him gently, and then he's pulling Louis up, and he's walking him back to bed. They climb in under the covers, and Louis relieves his spine of the pressure of sitting on a stupid toilet lid.

"I'll do some research tomorrow, see if I can find anything that will help you," Harry says into the dark. They're both on their backs, the covers tucked under their arms. 

"You don't have to do that. You probably won't find anything that the doctors haven't already tried."

"I can try."

And Louis knows he will try. His voice is resolute, and Louis can't see him, but he knows his eyebrows are furrowed with determination too. 

They don't realise it, but this time they fall asleep much closer than before.

Louis wakes up the next morning to a cold and empty bed. It's nothing that he's not used to by now, but he had fallen asleep with a trace of unwanted excitement that he'll be waking up to Harry's face, just like before. But there is no Harry, just the covers folded back and an imprint on the pillow next to his head.

He can hear noises coming from downstairs, Anne's light and airy voice trailing up the stairs followed by Harry's much deeper one that Louis has to strain to hear.

He climbs out of bed and uses the bathroom, his face looking slightly brighter although his eyes still hold tiredness. After climbing back into bed with Harry last night, he only woke up another two times, but both times seemed unprovoked. It was like his brain just automatically woke up, so used to not getting a good nights sleep. It only took around an hour each time to fall back into the light sleep, but he didn't get anymore weird dreams which he was thankful for. 

He walks into the kitchen to find Harry making tea, Anne sitting at the breakfast bar like when Louis done the same for her the morning before. She gives Louis a big smile, and Louis bids her good morning whilst Harry's bustling about, his top clinging to his back, his loose pyjama bottoms hugging his hips and showing the faint shape of his bum. Louis has to cover a cough at the realisation that it's definitely perkier.

He goes to the sink for a glass of water, Harry and Anne falling back into the conversation they were having. From what Louis gathers, they seem to be talking about where to go for lunch. Anne's saying how there's a lovely little diner type place a few roads away that she saw on her way down here. She wants to go, saying it looked nice, not to crowded. Harry's agreeing, saying he's not been there but is willing to see what its like, and when Anne asks Louis if that sounds good, he nods, sipping from his glass of water as he rests his back against the sink. 

Harry takes the tea over to Anne, and then he's shuffling to Louis. Louis stays in his place, not moving apart from to rest his hand in the space between his back and the sink to stop it from digging in, but then Harry's all in his space, and Louis freezes completely, his stomach doing small flips as Harry leans in. His lips only brush across Louis's temple, but it's enough to make his legs want to buckle and sink to the kitchen floor. It was something they used to do, something so familiar and comforting that Louis doesn't know if he wants to grab Harry's face and make him do it again or punch him in the stomach for making Louis's heart clench with such a simple move.

He does neither, and instead feels Harry's soft curls against his cheek. They're so much longer than they used to be, and Louis's still getting used to watching Harry tuck them behind his ears and flip them away from his face, but he loves them, wants to stroke them, tug them, braid them. And they hold the coconut smell that Louis thinks he could inhale as oxygen for the rest of his life.

"Do you want a tea?" Harry's asking as he shuffles away from him again to reboil the kettle, not even letting Louis answer because he knows Louis has tea every morning. 

"Yeah, yeah," Louis manages to utter after a few seconds. He can still feel Harry's lips on him, warm from drinking his own tea, and slightly rough. It makes Louis shiver as he walks around to the breakfast bar, taking the seat next to Anne. If he feels this dazed from Harry barely kissing his temple, he think he might pass out if they kiss for real. They're just going to have to avoid doing that. 

Harry sets the tea in front of him, and Louis mutters his thanks, avoiding looking at Harry's face. They decide to move into the living room on to the sofas. It's around 10 o'clock, and Louis slept in for longer than he meant to.

Anne starts telling him how things are back home, the little bits of gossip about the people in her town. She has Louis laughing as she explains that her cats keeping doing their business in her neighbour's flowerbed, and they keep knocking on her door to complain.

He likes it at Anne's house. She's only moved once since he's known her, and her house has always felt homely to him, an unlimited amount of food there for him to take, a bed upstairs that he and Harry have shared since they were young, pictures of Louis with practically all the family members up around the house. Harry was right; Anne does see him as a son. He loves it because he feels just as apart of the family as Harry does, and he feels so guilty for having deserted Anne for the past four months, especially after Robin, and then Harry leaving on top of that. Louis's starting to realise that he really wasn't the only one heartbroken over Harry being gone for so long. 

Anne excuses herself some time later, saying she's going to shower and get ready to go for lunch. It leaves Harry and Louis alone again, Harry sitting on his laptop as Louis flicks through the TV. There's nothing much on for a late Sunday morning, so he leaves on the Sunday talk shows. He's only half listening, Harry clicking on the keys of his laptop proving to be a more interesting distration. 

"What are you doing?" Louis asks eventually. 

"Researching," Harry says, looking intently at his screen. 

Louis knows exactly what he's doing, and he feels bad for worrying Harry so much that he's spending his morning searching for some type of cure. 

"Haz, really you don't have too. You won't find anything that I haven't tried."

"Louis, please. If anyone can find something, its me."

Louis's not so sure about that. Harry doesn't often research things, so Louis doesn't have much faith that he's going to stumble across something that actually has value, and he certainly isn't as experienced as the multiple doctors he saw, so Louis really doesn't have much hope. He sighs though, knowing Harry is determined and not wanting to pass his negativity on. He decides to just lie back and watch the rest of the talk show, trying to focus on the two presenters that are fumbling their way through the script they have, now moving into a cooking segment. 

Anne comes down a little while later, fully dressed. They plan to leave in half an hour, so Louis goes up to get ready. He showers in Harry's bathroom, using the shampoo and soap in there. The time alone makes his head feel a little bit clearer, like he's not about to throw up or reach out for Harry. He can't seem to contain this burning need to make him wrap them both up in a big blanket and lay on the sofa, smothering each other and just be touching in every way possible. He craves Harry's touch, his chest aching with it, and Harry's kiss this morning has only made it worse. Louis really does just want to sit in his lap, refuse to move, demand all of Harry's attention. He wants to touch every inch of him, feel his strong jaw under his fingertips, kiss up his neck and hear Harry mewl like he always does when Louis sucks lightly behind his left ear. He wants him, but he can't have him, and that tears Louis apart more than the past four months ever did. 

They arrive at the small restaurant, only a few other people occupying the tables near the back. Anne picks a small, intimate table rather close to the front windows which makes Louis uncomfortable, slightly nervous that someone is going to walk past and spot them, but Harry is pulling out his seat for him so he sits. They order food from a middle aged waitress that doesn't even blink an eyelid at the sight of Harry and Louis, making Louis feel a bit better, almost reassuring him that they're unknown here. Obviously, he knows that's not true, but he can dream. 

It's actually a very enjoyable lunch. They discuss their plans for the next day, Gemma planning to come in the late afternoon.

Louis is more worried about Gemma's arrival than he was for Anne's. He knows that Gemma is more likely to call him out on his shit, more likely to see the tension in his body everytime Harry brushes past him or when Harry's trip to Italy is mentioned, which will inevitably come up because of course Gemma will want to know what her brother was up to out there.

The thought of her eyes staring into his and seeing every little lie he's concocted, every little story that he's having to twist around the truth, makes him shudder. At least with Anne they can tell her almost anything and she still beams at them like they've done something marvellous.

He has to refrain from stopping the bustling waitress multiple times to order a drink that will effect him more than his lemonade is. He knows he can't do that, especially now that Harry knows everything, and may even think that Louis has stopped this behaviour. He doesn't want to see that look in Harry's eyes that he rarely gives anyone, the one that's filled with disappointment and helplessness, knowing he can't do anything about it, knowing he probably wouldn't be able to stop Louis anyway.

Harry has only given that look to him once, and it was when they had come home one night after a long day of working and promoting their latest album, and Louis had completely forgot that they had agreed to do a date night. It had been months, and Harry kept asking that they go do something, just them two without the boys trailing along, so they agreed to do it, but they got home and Louis had just flopped into bed. When Harry reminded him about their plans, Louis had only huffed and said that he was too tired to do anything. Harry had given him that look then, and although it broke Louis, he didn't say anything, just watched Harry undress and climb silently into bed next to him in the darkness.

Thinking back to it now, Louis wishes he had gotten Harry dressed up and taken him for the nicest meal, maybe bought him a little present to make him smile, taken him home and kissed him, kissed every inch of him until they fell asleep, wrapped around each other. Louis would give anything to do that right now. 

He plays with his food, trying to block that night from his head, trying to block the crushing feeling that's swelling in his body and making his chest tight. He joins back in with the conversation, hearing Harry say that he'll cook a dinner for Gemma's arrival. Anne gives Harry a warm smile, saying how nice that will be, them sitting altogether for a family meal. Louis wonders if he would still be considered a part of the family if she knew everything happening, if she knew that Louis had broke her son's heart and his own in the process. 

It's when the food has been cleared away and the bill has been left next to Harry on the white table cloth that Louis does something he knows he's not meant to do. The sun is bright, casting a warm glow across the table, hitting Harry straight on. It knocks the breath out of Louis as Harry's eyes suddenly change from a deep, soulful mossy colour to a pale emerald that gleams, his pupils so small that the green takes over. His hair looks gold, a halo of curls that make him look untouchable, an angel amongst mortal humans that don't deserve the privilege of sight.

Louis's suddenly flooded with memories of them in Mexico together, where the sun was always warm and bright. It seems that a small slideshow is playing for him, images of them on a boat, paddling in the sea, lying on the sofas in their hotel room, ice cream on Harry's face, the turtles on their matching swim shorts, Harry's dimples even deeper in the shadows of the sunset, the bottles of wine they shared under canopy's. And playing along behind all of these gut wrenching images is Louis's own voice, soft and gentle, whispering 'my sweet golden boy' like a mantra.

Louis called Harry that the whole time they were there because the sun had been kind to him, giving him a tan insted of a sun burn, and he looked beautiful. He would say it over the dinner table whilst stroking the back of Harry's hand, he would say it when they would steal a kiss in an alley way whilst shopping in the streets, and he would say it whilst they were having sex, his voice coming out as quiet and gentle as his breaths as Harry trembled below him in the early hours of the morning. 

Louis can't help himself when he lifts his hand, delicately brushing a curl that dared to obscure Louis's view from Harry's face. The tips of his fingers brush over Harry's forehead, coming down and around his ear to place the strand of hair there delicately. He feels Harry go still under his touch, their eyes meeting, and Louis wants to feel smug, wants to feel proud that he's effected Harry just like Harry effected him this morning, but he's frozen too. The thing about Harry's kiss this morning was that it had been planned by Harry. He had thought it out, saw it as part of the show they were putting on. But Louis stroking against Harry's face hadn't been planned. Louis didn't think before doing it, almost felt like he had the right to touch Harry and therefore there was no need to think about it. But, with his hand still awkwardly held near Harry's face and his fingertips still tingling, he's starting to realise that, no, he doesn't have the right to touch him. 

He pulls away, coughing into the back of his hand, tyring to act like none of that just happened and that his heart isn't in his throat.

But when he looks at Anne, she's smiling at them as if all is right in the world, and, for a second, it had been. 

They're getting ready for bed, Louis exhausted, his bones aching as he sinks into the mattress. Harry's throwing their clothes in the washing basket, beant over, making Louis stare at the ceiling so he's not tempted to sneak a peak at his bum. He feels the bed sink next to him, looks back at Harry as he watches him get under the covers but not fully laying down.

"Um, so, I done my research." Harry's voice is low as he switches out the light above the bed. They're plunged into darkness, and Louis can feel shuffling in the bed, the covers rustling, and Louis just knows that Harry's eyes are directed at him.

"Right. Find anything?"

"Well, not really. At least not a method that's been proven by a professional."

Louis shifts so he's sitting up slightly too, resting the top of his back against the headboard.

"What do you mean?"

Harry stays silent for a few beats, and Louis can hear his breathing, slow and calm.

"I couldn't find anything that you said you haven't tried already, like medicine wise, so I thought maybe there was other things you could try, like, I don't know, a certain type of food or tea maybe that might help you sleep."

Louis's eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, and he's slowly making out the shape of Harry's body next to him, long and toned in his tight t-shirt as he sits in the same position as Louis, the covers kept around his ribs by his elbows.

"So, anyway, I ended up on this website that was mainly just a place where people sent in their own experiences or any questions they had, and other people could answer. I reading through some, and one woman said that, um, she found it easier to sleep when... um, well, after she got a boyfriend."

Louis furrows his eyebrows, but Harry can't see.

"What does that have anything to do with it?"

"Well, she said like the um... the sex and stuff. She said that helped."

Louis's eyebrows shoot up now, his mouth forming an 'o'. He can't be serious can he?

"I'm not saying we should have sex," Harry quickly says, his words tumbling over each other before he lets out a strained chuckle.

"What _are_ you saying Harry?" Louis doesn't know if he's feeling relieved or disappointed.

"Well, she said she thinks it's the closeness to someone else that helps her sleep, like a security blanket. So I was thinking that maybe we could - only if you want - we could cuddle," Harry finishes, and Louis can see his features a bit clearer now. His face is open, honest, and it makes Louis's heart stutter.

"You want to...cuddle?" Louis's still a bit confused, but the thought of cuddling up to Harry has his skin itching with anticipation.

"Well, its really if _you_ want to. You haven't tried it yet, and it might help. If I can help you get some sleep then I want to do it." His face is still so open and willing, and Louis feels so endeared.

They're silent for some time, both looking at each other in the darkness. Louis thinks it helps him to think more rationally about this, because at least in the dark he can't quite tell if Harry's expression is also hopeful, leaving him to wonder.

He thinks about it, knowing that this is just going to put him miles back when it comes to his progress of getting over the man lying next to him. But then his mind is firing him with reasons _to_ do it; he'll get to hold Harry again, get to fall asleep with him, maybe even get some sleep himself if this actually works. And he's already faking a relationship with him, so when he thinks about it, his progress has already been flung out the window. 

"Okay," he whispers.

They stare at each other for a second longer, and then they're both moving to lay down. Louis tells himself that its just his mind making things up when he thinks that Harry looks eager.

"Um, how do you want to do this?" Louis asks when they're lying side by side.

"Can we... can we do it like before?" Harry's voice is shy, cautious.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course."

And then Harry's turning around, his back facing Louis, inviting him to cling on. Louis uses his elbow to move himself closer, and Harry shuffles back, and then they're pressed together and Louis thinks his body lets out a physical sigh of relief. He tucks his arm around Harry's waist, settling it snuggly under his ribs. He curls his legs in behind Harry's, and his body gets overwhelmed as Harry's smell chokes him as he plants his head inbetween his shoulderblades, getting a mouthful of curls. But he doesn't care. He doesn't care because, for the first time in a while, he feels a part of him lot back into place.

*

It's late afternoon when Gemma arrives the next day, the grey sky slowly losing light as Harry welcomes her in with a hug. She looks pale compared to Harry's sun kissed skin, just her head visible to Louis over Harry's shoulder, her nose buried in his neck. Louis knows what that feels like, wanting to breathe Harry in, matching his smell to the one you remember.

"Louis," she says, coming to him next. Louis hugs her, his nerves about her arrival settling just slightly as she squeezes him, her big coat getting in the way.

"Hi, Gems," Louis whispers in her ear.

He can't believe he's been neglecting these people in his life, the ones he considers family, all because he was too self centred. The thing is, the other boys had each other, so he knows that they were somewhat fine when he went off the rails. But then there's these people here, Anne and Gemma, and they were probably feeling just as lonely and confused when Harry just packed up and left. And Louis didn't even call. He left them too.

He lets go of Gemma, and she rubs his arm as she steps back, Harry setting her bags at the foot of the stairs. They take her into the living room where Anne is reading a book, curled up on in the corner of the sofa. She hugs her daughter, and Louis has really missed this, the family that came with Harry.

"Right, I'm going to go and start dinner," Harry says.

"I'll help." Louis follows him into the kitchen. He's still scared to get put on the spot by Gemma, so he decides it's best to avoid any one on one interactions with her.

But now he's in the kitchen alone with Harry, the other person he's not so keen on having one on one interactions with right now. He woke up this morning after having the best sleep he's had in a long time, one with little disturbances, and he felt warm and sedated as he lay in a cocoon of blankets. But the space next to him - the one where Harry had been the night before - was empty, the creased sheets the only evidence that he had been there at all. Louis remembers his heart swooping in disappointment, but then his belly swooping in embarassment when he realised that he was hard. The smell of Harry wasn't helping him, and he had to get in the shower to try and calm himself down. But of course he then had to use Harry's shower gel and shampoo, and the fragrance made him lose all restraint as he spent the next 10 minutes slowly pulling himself off against the tiled wall, biting on the inside of his elbow as he came. He barely looked Harry in the eye when he came downstairs.

But now he's in the kitchen with him, only half listening to his slow voice as he tells Louis to start cutting up the vegetables. Louis's handed a knife and a chopping board, and he starts slowly cutting, avoiding his fingers which proves to be slightly more difficult than he thought.

"You never want to help cook. You're normally a menace in the kitchen."

Louis looks up at Harry, mock offended. It's true though. He only ever helped Harry cook when he was baking. And even then, something normally went wrong. Louis doesn't know why, but whenever he's in the kitchen, chaos normally ensues. But Harry always found it funny, and endearing, so Louis never got too hung up on it, and he used to distract Harry instead of helping him by sitting on the counter and stepping into Harry's space every chance he got, all to see his eyes go wide and the flush that would sit high on his cheeks.

Harry's looking at him now, questioning, his eyebrows raised. He flicks his eyes down to the knife in Louis's hand that hasn't stopped moving, even now as he looks up at him. Louis feels Harry's long fingers wrap around his wrist, stilling it.

"Focus, Lou. I'm not taking you to the hospital if you cut a finger off."

"You would just leave me to bleed out?"

Harry huffs a laugh as he starts chucking noodles into a pan.

"No. I'll stitch you back up myself."

"Harry, I don't think sewing thread would be very professional," he mutters, but his eyes are back on the knife anyway, watching it carefully as he raises it only to bring it back down at an angle.

"It would have to do." Harry gives him a sarcastic smile as he moves around Louis to the sink, filling the pan with water.

Louis hums, a small smirk playing at his lips.

They're silent for a little while, working side by side as Louis continues cutting, and Harry throws things in with the noodles that are now cooking on the stove. They can hear Anne and Gemma talking, the tv mixing in so that they can't hear exactly what they're saying unless they listen closely, only their loud laughs making it to their ears clearly.

Louis can feel the warmth coming off of Harry, their shoulders brushing every so often. He tries not to notice though. He's focusing so hard on not noticing, that he doesn't realise that Harry's actually staring at him until he tarts talking.

"You're doing it wrong you know." His voice is soft, quiet, like he doesn't want to scare Louis.

Louis only looks down at the pile of cut vegetables sitting to the right of him, and then the single carrot left in his hand.

"You could of said that sooner. I've just ruined all your veg," Louis mumbles, continuing to chop the carrot. "If you wanted it a certain way, you should have done it yourself." There's no bite to the words.

He's suddenly crowded by Harry behind him, and his hand stops chopping, his eyes rising to the cupboard in front of him, the chipped yelllow paint unfocused.

"I'll show you," Harry whispers, and suddenly the moment feels so delicate, so fragile, the sounds from the living room becoming a hum of whitenoise.

Harry wraps his long fingers around Louis's wrist again, but more firmly than before, and he places his other hand on Louis's hip to keep him still. Louis can feel Harry's breath on the side of his neck, warm and light like a summer's breeze that doesn't do anything to cool you down.

He looks back down at the chopping board, and he can see Harry's hand over his, his skin grazing his rope tattoo. Harry starts moving his hand up and down, carefully, making sure Louis understands how to do it, and even when he does, Harry still doesn't let go, still doesn't put space between his chest and Louis's back, only eases his hold slightly to let Louis do it.

Louis's not even sure what he's doing. He doesn't know up from down at the moment, and he's thankful that his brain has gone to autopilot as he continues to cut. He must be doing okay though because Harry hums approvingly, the vibrations in his chest buzzing against his back. Louis can't help it when he leans back, just a tad, but he's not sure if he imagines the way Harry tightens the hand on his hip.

"Whoops, sorry to ruin your momen,t but we would like some wine." Gemma's voice is like a truck disturbing a peaceful highway. Both Louis and Harry jump, suddenly remembering that there's actually other people in the house and they're not alone, the sound of the tv cutting into their silent bubble whilst Gemma stands in the doorway, one eyebrow quirked up.

Louis feels Harry step away from him, removing his hands from Louis's hip and wrist gently.

Louis's back suddenly feels cold.

"Right. Any particualr wine?" Harry asks, walking over to the fridge.

"Any wine that you're willing to give me is fine, Harold."

Harry coughs into the back of his hand as he pulls out a bottle of wine, one Louis is sure is the expensive kind that they used to buy because it reminded them of the time they were in San Fransisco, sitting in a restaurant, their ankles hooked under the table as they giggled at the rudeness of the waiter.

Louis had originally been slightly annoyed by the man, but Harry made a joke as soon as he left the table that had sent Louis into fits of laughter, and they hadn't been able to contain themselves for the rest of the night, the wine slowly making their heads feel lighter as they refilled their glasses until the bottle was drained. They had ended up buying another to take back to the hotel with them.

He can't stop the memory of Harry licking the wine off of his thighs and stomach as they lay in bed from filling his mind, eyes dark and heavy as his tongue trailed along Louis's skin aimlessly, moaning like he was the one being licked clean. Louis also remembers having to make him gag himself with his own fingers after that so the neighbours didn't hear him whilst Louis ate him out with his wine stained lips.

That was the night that they had promised each other forever. Louis had even wrapped the small coil from the top of the wine bottle around Harry's finger, a mock wedding ring, if you will. They knew that that was where they were heading in life. They would get married, despite having to keep it a secret from the world.

They had been wine-drunk, but they were deadly serious, both of them finding courage to say the things that they had only ever expressed physically, and Louis still remembers the way Harry had whispered into the darkness as they lay in bed facing each other whilst he presumed Louis was asleep. 

_I promise you until the end of time._

He zones back into the present, and he knows his face is red, the skin burning. But he doesn't have anything to focus on because he's finished with the last carrot. He looks back up, and Harry's still standing by the fridge, but his eyes are on the floor, glassy and unseeing. Louis wonders if the same images just flashed through his mind at the sight of the bottle. Gemma's looking between the two of them, confused, but she lets it go, skipping back to the living room with the bottle of wine.

"Um, so, what do we need to do now?" Louis asks, his voice wavering.

"Hm?"

"With the food. What do we do now?" he gestures to the pan.

"Oh." Harry comes back over, but he's silent, his hands unsure of each of his movements, and there's a distance between then now that neither of them seems to want to close. Louis can tell that he's out of it, can tell he's somewhere else completely, but he doesn't say anything, just lets Harry take his time with working out what to do.   
  
  


They sit down for dinner eventually, Harry coming back around to the real world eventually.

Louis wishes he knew where his mind went, but in his gut he knows he was picturing San Fransisco. Louis wonders what feelings got dragged up with it; if they were happy feelings like the ones they felt that night or if the memory was for some reason tainted by everything they've been through recently. Louis certainly felt bittersweet about it, knowing that that was one of the happiest periods of time in his life, and he's not sure he'll ever feel like that again.

That's a morbid thought, to think that your life has already reached it's peak and nothing will ever match to it, so now you have to live your life always settling for less. Harry was his peak, and now he'll always have to settle for less. The thought makes him want to send his knife through the table. He shoves the image of a future him with somebody else, somebody who could never even compete with Harry, somebody who Louis knows he could never fully love, to the back of his mind. He doesn't want to imagine a future where Harry is just a side story instead of the plot.

They start dinner, Gemma next to Louis and Harry and Anne opposite them. The food is good, and Louis's quite proud of himself for contributing, even if it was only cutting the vegetables that Harry deemed as 'wrong' anyway.

"So, how was Italy, Harry?"

Louis knew it was coming, but he still tenses slightly as he shoves another load of noodles into his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, it was good," Harry shifts uncomfortably, his eyes flitting to Louis, and Louis wonders if Harry realises it makes him so uncomfortable. He almost feels bad about making him feel like he can't talk about it. Almost.

"Um, I got a lot of writing done, which, you know was the whole point," Harry adds when Gemma doesn't look satisfied with the answer.

"What else did you do? You couldn't have just been writing songs the whole time," Gemma rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Tell her about that group you met, you know the ones you ended up sticking with," Anne says.

Louis's ears perk. He doesn't remember Harry mentioning anyone else in the stories of his trip apart from the guy sent with him from managment.

"Uh, yeah. There was these people. I went out with them sometimes."

"Where?" It's Louis that speaks, and he even surprises Harry who whips his head to look at him, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Just whenever I felt like going out, you know, just out for lunch or something like that."

"What about that guy you spoke about. What was his name again?" Louis knows that Anne is unaware of everything right now, knows that she can't possibly think why this would make Louis feel physically sick, knows that she's in the dark and being genuine, but Louis's pretty sure he could tape her mouth shut.

"Oh, um. Jacob," Harry stutters over the word.

"Jacob?" Louis finds himself asking. He doesn't even realise he's about to say it, his mind gone blank, fuzzy like tv static, with just the name Jacob ringing in it. It's all of his worst fears coming true; Harry with some Italian guy.

His mind goes from silent to deafening, so many scenarios filling his head that he might definitely thrwo up on the table.

"Yeah. He moved to Italy a few years ago, and he lived in the villa next to mine so he offered to show me around."

_I bet he did_ , Louis thinks. The thought sounds angry, and he realises that his fists are clenched on top of the table when Harry's eyes flicker down to them. Louis quickly shoves them underneath so that they squeeze his thighs instead, out of sight. Louis hums at Harry's response, and then he's pulling his hands back on top of the table, maybe to aggressively, reaching for his water and gulping down half the glass. God, he wishes he had a spiced rum right now, wishes it could burn the words that are threatening to spill out, wash away the anger and jealousy that's now nestled behind his ribs, weaving in and out of them and sitting in between.

"So what did he show you?" Gemma asks, giving Louis a side eye glance that he misses.

"Just around the place. The best restaurants, the best shops, a shortcut down to the beach," Harry mumbles, not seeming to want to say much more on the situation.

Louis's mind is unhelpfully teasing him with the image of Harry and Jacob walking hand in hand down to the beach from their villas, Harry in his stupid yellow swimming trunks that Louis loves, his skin on full disply for the whole of the beach to see, for Jacob to touch. Louis used to love doing that with Harry, showing the world that Harry was his and they could only look. Obviously, they had to pick when and where to do them type of things, couldn't just do it where they could get pictured, and Louis thinks that's why when he could do that, when he could show the people around him that Harry was his, he loved it. But now all he can picture is _Jacob_ doing this, _Jacob_ who probably looks like a fucking super model.

"Did you do anything else?" Gemma's asking.

"No, not really," Harry mumbles down at his plate, looking like a child who's just been scolded. But Louis can't think about the pout that's sitting on his lips and insteads digs his fork into the noodles.

The rest of the dinner is tense, conversations now stilted. Louis spends his time staring down at his plate, and, although he doesn't look up, he's pretty sure Harry is doing the same opposite him. Anne tries a few times to get her son to talk more about the trip, but soon she gives up and follows Gemma's lead in being quiet.

Once they're done, Anne gets up to clear everything away, and Louis stands up to help too.

"Don't worry about it, dear. You and Harry cooked, me and Gemma will wash up," Anne says, stacking the plates up and carrying them to the kitchen. Gemma huffs, clearly not wanting to help, but she does anyway.

Louis doesn't want to sit at the table with just Harry, his anger directed at him, so he sets off for the sofa instead. Harry doesn't move, instead stays sitting at the table, stiff with his arms crossed in front of him, staring blankly at a wall, Louis unable to help glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

He turns the tv on, trying to distract himself from the anger in his chest, but then the notebook is on, and it makes Louis's blood run cold. He knows it's Harry's favourite film, and he sees him shift in the corner of his eye as the scene in the rain plays, and Louis can feel tears welling up in his eyes. Harry used to always make him watch it when it was on tv, and if had been too long since it was, he would play the dvd. But now Louis can only imagine Jacob taking his place next to Harry, wiping away Harry's tears that he cries no matter how many times he's seen the film.

Louis switches the channel and leaves it on the next one, some sitcom that he's never seen playing. He hears the sigh that leaves Harry's mouth, hears Harry's chair scrape back, his feet padding away from him, and only then does Louis look over to watch his back as he walks out of the room.   
  
  
  
  
  


Louis crawls into the bed, hearing Harry flush the toilet in the bathroom.

They hadn't spoke to each other for the rest of the night, Louis deciding that maybe Gemma _was_ the better Styles to have a one on one conversation with, sticking with her as they watched the dumb sitcom that they both agreed they hated. He had know idea where Harry was, only seeing him once when he silently brought them both tea and then left the room again. Gemma had only screwed up her face and asked a bewildered "what's gotten into him?" which Louis shrugged too, saying he was probably just tired, maybe jet lagged, which was a stupid answer because Italy is only an hour ahead of them, but Gemma didn't say anything about it.

But now he's in bed after hugging Gemma good night, thankful to have survived the evening alone with her, and kissing Anne on the head when he found her coming out of her room. He's on the edge of the mattress, just like how he started on his first night, facing away from Harry's side as he shrugs the covers up higher around him, trying to bury himself. His hands are squished tight inbetween his tense thighs, his whole body rigid as he hears Harry come out of the bathroom. He squeezes his eyes shut, seeing dancing spots behind his lids as Harry shuffles onto the bed, the covers rustling as he tries to settle in. Louis stays perfectly still, his back still turned to him, shunning him out, so different from the way they slept curled up together last night. Louis's throat feels tight.

The room is quiet, but Louis knows the light is still on even with his eyes closed. Maybe Harry's reading. He wants to turn and look, see if he would see the sight he used too, Harry sitting up, the covers draped over his lap, maybe a tea next to him as he read from some book that Louis would groan about and say is boring, annoy Harry until he put the book down and gave him his attention by nibbling on his bare hip.

Louis is almost certain that if he turned to look now, Harry would be wearing a t-shirt instead of forgoing one and there most definitely won't be any nibbling at skin to get attention. But then the silence is broken, taking the image away.

"Lou," Harry's voice is closer than Louis thought it was going to be, and his body tightens even more.

"I know you're not asleep, Louis. I know what you look like when you're asleep."

That sends a zip down Louis's spine, but he ignores it in favour of huffing and turning onto his back, glaring up at Harry who's resting on his forearm.

"What, Harry?"

Harry stays silent, studying Louis's face. It makes Louis feel slightly uncomfortable, and he looks at Harry's eyebrows instead of directly into his eyes. They're furrowed, a deep crease inbetween them.

"That thing. The thing at dinner."

When he doesn't say anything else, Louis sighs.

"What about it?"

"I- I just want you to know, that, it's not what you think."

Harry's eyes briefly close, but then they're open again, bright and pleading. Louis stays silent, although his heart holds something that it doesn't usually.

"Jacob, he was just a friend. That was it."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me Harry. We're not together," his voice is harsh, and he sees Harry flinch. He thinks he might of flinched too.

"I- I know. I know that. But I just didn't want you thinking that I was in Italy getting with someone when I wasn't."

Louis can't help it when relief floods him. Just hearing Harry say that makes Louis's stomach stop twisting. The thing was, if it wasn't Jacob, then Louis was sure Harry would have been with somebody else. But maybe Harry didn't spend his time the way Louis is imagining. 

Louis sighs a much gentler sigh, his eyes flicking down to the bed.

"You still don't have to explain yourself to me, Harry," his voice is soft as he continues to stare down.

"I know. But I wanted to. I don't like it when you're angry with me," Harry admits. That's a fact that Louis has always known. They didn't argue often, but when they did, it was always somewhat serious. They didn't argue over trivial things. They bickered, of course, but it was always playful. But when it came to something big, something they were both scared of, they couldn't help but get angry with each other. Louis used to want to cut his own tongue off whilst yelling at Harry, hated the volume his words would come out at, but Harry would be shouting right back, and Louis was never very good at controlling himself when he felt he was being backed into a corner. But, more often than not, Harry would come to him after, looking more sad than angry, but he was still stubborn. It would end up being Louis that apolosgised because he would rather see Harry angry than sad, and Louis would cuddle him, kiss him until they both forgot what the argument was even about.

"Oh, baby," the pet name slips off of his tongue a bit to easily, and he's worried it's too much for the moment, too much considering they're just friends now, but Harry's face seems to brighten. "I wasn't angry with you."

A burst of laughter comes from Harry, his head thrown back to reveal the column of his throat.

"You were most definitely angry with me, Lou." He suddenly goes more quiet, his smile dropping slightly, a sad glow behind his eyes. "You turned the notebook off."

Louis suddenly feels guilty. Guilty about making the first dinner that Gemma had with Harry after months of not seeing him tense, about not playing along with Anne and making conversation, guilty about making Harry feel bad, about turning off the notebook.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I got like that," he finally says. It's a lie but he doesn't know what else to say. It gets a light chuckle out of Harry for some reason anyway.

"Lou, if I thought that you had been seeing someone I think I would have been flipping the table." His laughter his cut short though. "Um, have you? Have you been seeing someone?" His voice is unsure as he stumbles across the words. All Louis can do is slowly shake his head against his pillow, stunned at everything Harry's saying. He would be mad if Louis was seeing someone?

He doesn't think Harry realises the things that are coming out of his mouth, and if he does, then he clearly doesn't realise the meaning Louis takes from them.

Harry smiles down at him, and Louis almost forgets what for. But then Harry's stretching up, turning the light off above the bed, sending them into a soft darkness.

"Are you not going to hug me?" Harry's voice is so low that Louis almost misses it. He is now certain that Harry doesn't realise the effect his words have on him. He says everything so innocently, like he doesn't see why it would be any other way, like he doesn't realise this is something they shouldn't really be doing, and it nearly sends Louis into cardiac arrest.

He moves closer anyway, but when he expects to find himself pressed into Harry's back, he finds that Harry's facing him instead. But Harry doesn't move to turn around, only drags Louis closer, wrapping his arms around his waist, his face buried into Louis's neck.

"Did it help last night? The cuddling?" Harry's voice is still so low, but with his lips moving against his neck right next to his ear, Louis hears him easily.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think it did, H." Louis slips one leg inbetween Harry's and closes his eyes, the ghost of Harry's lips moving on his neck still tickling his skin.   
  
  
  
  
  


Louis wakes up, slightly colder than before, the first rays of sunlight filtering into the room and casting a warm glow across the bed.

Maybe that's why he woke, considering the sun is hitting his eyes directly. The thing is, the days are getting colder, winter creeping up on them slowly as they make their way into October, which means the days are shorter. Louis knows from having been awake plenty of times at sunrise to know that it's probably around 6 or 7 in the morning.

He lifts his head off the pillow, looking at the alarm clock on Harry's side of the bed which states that it's 6:48.

He groans, but when he shuts his eyes again, sleep doesn't seem to want to take him. He realises that last night was the first time he didn't wake up, and he feels a bubble of pride in his chest for himself, although he does have a weird feeling that he had a particuarly unpleasant dream, but he can't seem to grasp it. It could be the not drinking thing, but Louis's also pretty sure a curly haired lad has something to do with finally sleeping a full night without self medicating.

Speaking of which, the bed is empty apart from him. Again.

Louis's not sure how he feels about Harry getting out of bed. He wonders if he does it to avoid him, and that doesn't sit right with Louis. He actually wants to wake up with his vision full of Harry again, and he's getting frustrated with the disappointment that he feels once again.

But why would Harry be up this early anyway?

He groans, rolling over onto his front, and that's when he feels how hard he is. He groans for an entirely different reason, the mattress causing a nice friction on his cock.

He knows he shouldn't, knows this isn't even his bed, but he can't help it when he ruts up against it. He thinks about getting up to move into the shower, knows it will be less messy that way, but then his sweatpants shift and the raised inseam creates a the best kind of sensation, making him whine high in his throat.

He keeps going, can't stop himself, and he ends up biting into his pillow to stop the noises he's making from escaping. He's worried that Harry is going to walk in, see him rutting in his bed and be disgusted, maybe walk out of the bathroom where he could have gone if he woke up too early and needed a wee, but Louis doesn't care as he suddenly comes in his sweatpants, a choked moan being muffled by the cotton of the pillow that's now damp with his drool.

He lays there for a second, not quite sure what to do.

The house is still quiet, and Harry is still nowhere in the room, and Louis can't hear him in the bathroom, so he thinks he got away with it. He rolls back onto his back, the crotch of his sweatpants now wet and sticking to him uncomfortably. He sighs, his muscles feeling more relaxed than usual, but he knows he has to get up and change, doesn't want Harry finding him like this. So he gets up and decides to jump in the shower, leaving his sweatpants on the floor of the bathroom. He'll have to pick them up later so he can secretly wash them with Harry's stuff maybe.

He comes out clean and even more relaxed than before, the warm water having just the right pressure as it hit the tops of his shoulder blades. He pulls on a new pair of sweatpants, kicking his own ones to the side and making a mental note to remember they're there.

He pulls on a new t-shirt too as he makes his way down the stairs quietly, deciding that a cup of tea sounds really good right now. It's only when he's in the kitchen about the flick the kettle on that he hears the soft music playing. He stops, listening to the calming noise, the melody playing softly, and Louis thinks he hears windchimes mixed in with it. His confusion only grows when he walks around the corner to the living room.

Harry is on a mat in the middle of the room, his phone next to him, the source of the meditation music. Louis can only see the backs of his legs and his ass, clad in tight black leggings that actually make Louis salvate. He's doing the downward dog position, slowly rocking in it, leaning forward so his weight is in his hands and just the tips of his toes are touching the floor before rolling back until his heels meet the mat.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Harry jumps, his arms losing balance and causing him to fall flat to the floor.

He quickly gets on to all fours to help himself stand up, his legs to long to let him do it in one fluid movement, and he whips around to face Louis.

"Jesus Christ, Lou. Why would you scare me like that?"

Louis wants to laugh but Harry's not wearing a top, his torso on full display, and the leggings look just as good from the front, Harry's thighs looking soft and thick underneath them. Louis almost hums in approval. Clearly no amount of working out will get rid of the softness of Harry's thighs and love handles, and Louis has never been so grateful. But Harry's torso and arms have definitely adapted to Harry's new routine, because his biceps look huge, as well as his pectorial muscles, and his abs are showing through the thin skin of his stomach. And then there's Harry's actual face, all flushed and pretty, lips redder than they have any right to be, and his hair has been tied up into the smallest bun Louis has ever seen, curls falling out around his face, behind his ears and around the nape of his neck due to being to short, but Harry has a thin pink headband that's holding them back from his sweaty face.

So, yeah, Louis wants to laugh, but it gets caught in his throat.

Harry just stares back at him, his hand over his heart, rising and falling with his chest as he breathes deeply, either from Louis scaring him or his morning workout, Louis doesn't know.

"Why are you up before 7?" Louis finally asks once he's broken out of his small trance. He's worried he's about to get hard again despite having just came, in Harry's bed no less.

"I'm doing yoga," Harry says it like it's obvious. Louis snorts.

"I can see that. But why?"

"To keep fit?" Harry says it like a question, looking around the room like he'll find an answer to his confusion. Louis snorts again.

"I meant why before 7?"

"Oh. Well, because then I wouldn't be interrupted like I am being now." Louis rolls his eyes. "Why are you up anyway?" Harry asks.

"Um, the sun woke me up," he says, flicking his eyes away from Harry, worried that he's going to see right through him and realise that he just got himself off. If anyone would be able to tell, it would be Harry, after all.

"Right. Well, guess I'll make breakfast then," Harry says, picking up his phone and shutting the music off that Louis had drowned out. Louis can't help but sneak a quick glance at his ass when he bends over.

"No, don't worry about it. You finish," Louis gestures wildly at Harry's little set up, "and I'll make something."

"You sure?" Harry doesn't sound so certain.

"Of course, Harold. I do know how to make some breakfast without burning the place down."

Again, Harry looks unsure. Louis feels a bit offended, but he's gotten this look from Harry ever since they were teenagers and he had left the pasta by itself for 2 minutes which led it to somehow explode and pasta got stuck to the walls, drying there until they coudn't get it off. That's where it stayed for the year that they lived in that apartment until they managed to sell it off.

Harry has never really trusted him in the kitchen since, protecting every other one and supervising whenever Louis declared it was his turn to make them something. It normally ended up with Harry stepping in anyway, either to help or to take over when Louis got a bit bored. The look Harry's giving him now is the same one he gave when he was 16, only now his jawline is much sharper, his hair is longer, and he has slight stubble that Louis knows he will proudly show off if he can.

"I hope you're craving cereal," Louis says as he leaves the room, grimancing at the thought of making anything else as he's sure it would lead to a catasrophy without Harry there to guide him along. He hears Harry's laughter as he gets back into the kitchen.  
  
  


10 minutes later and they're both sitting at the table with their bowls of cereal in front of them. The house is still quiet, only them up, but now the sun is streaming in through the kitchen window above the sink, and the whole room is orange, and of course the mantra of _my sweet golden boy_ is swirling in Louis's head. He doesn't know where it's coming from and he feels like it's a tab on his computer that refuses to close. He just can't get rid of it. But Harry does look especially lovely in this light, the shadow of his jawline and dimple more prominent, staring Louis in the face, begging to be kissed. Harry's now wearing a white tank top which Louis is thankful for. He doesn't think he would have the willpower to sit across from a bare chested Harry and and not look like he's forcing his body to stay calm.

They're talking mindlessly, not really saying anything important, but Louis hasn't felt this tye of normalcy around Harry since he got back, and Louis sees that as being important.

He can't deny that they've become comfortable with each other again. Cuddling to sleep and the light touches passed between them will do that. It's even easy for Louis to forget the past four months, easy for him to fall back into the reality he lost where Harry is still his.

He's missed this, missed Harry as a friend, someone who he can sit and talk to without worrying about all of the background noise, all of the heartache, missed having someone who doesn't care what he says, doesn't care what they're talking about, just wants to speak to him because they want too and thinks what Louis has to say is worth hearing. Harry has always thought that, has always dripped off of his every word, his eyes wide with interest, and Louis loves that. He understands, because that's how it feels when it comes to Harry. And it's comfortable. Louis has definitely missed this.

"We're going back to the studio today. Niall text me last night," Harry says, spooning another load of cereal into his mouth.

"Oh. That means we have to leave your mum and Gemma here."

"Yeah. They'll be okay, they might go for a bit of shopping or something."

Louis hums.

"Do you think they've noticed anything different with us?" Louis can't stop the words.

Harry's mouth slows it's chewing, his jaw coming to a stop, and Louis watches as he swallows, adam's apple bobbing.

"Um, no, I don't think so. I mean, we haven't really given them reason to think there's anything... different."

Louis watches as Harry picks the word 'different' slowly. He's pretty sure he was going to say 'wrong' instead.

"I guess. But last night, I could have given something away. I was so moody," Louis feels ashamed. He doesn't expect to look back up to see Harry with a massive grin on his face.

"You were moody, weren't you?" Harry laughs.

"Shut up," Louis glares playfully. "At least I wasn't flipping tables," he throws Harry's own words from the night before back at him.

"Heyyyy." Harry's brows are furrowed but he's still sporting a wide grin. Louis gives him one back.

"I think Gemma might have picked up on something, to be honest. I could feel her giving me weird looks at dinner, and she asked why you were moody when we were watching tv," Louis says.

"She was worried about the wrong person," Harry says, looking down into his bowl, his smile turning smug. Louis kicks him under the table. Harry's smile just gets bigger. "It's probably just because they haven't really seen us fight, like, ever. They probably just didn't understand what was happening," Harry supplies when he sees that Louis is actually worried about it.

"It wasn't a fight," Louis says, swallowing more cereal. Harry only hums. "It wasn't a fight, right?" Louis asks, now worried for a different reason.

"No, of course it wasn't. And even if it was, you said sorry anyway," Harry says with a smile again. 

"Why should I have been the one to say I'm sorry? You're the one that got me mad," Louis huffs.

"Yeah, over a guy who you didn't even know existed till 20 seconds before. If I hadn't been so worried about you being mad at me, it would have actually been funny the way you looked," Harry says on a laugh.

"And how, exactly, did I look?"

"Like an angry kitten." Harry laughs even through the pain of being kicked by Louis again.

They settle down again, Louis not feeling up for talking about last night anymore, especially not the moment he discovered Jacob.

"Tell me about Italy."

He cannot believe those words just came out of his mouth. Harry looks at him, just as confused, the same face he gave Louis last night at the dinner table when Louis spoke up.

"Um, it was good," he settles for. Louis rolls his eyes.

"Seriously, Harry. Tell me. I want to know."

He really, really doesn't. But he also does. He can't help but feel a slight curiousity. 

Harry still looks unsure, but starts to tell him anyway. "It really was good. It was a nice place to be. It was warm, and the villa was quite secluded, the other's being at least a couple hundred feet either side of mine, so I was able to walk around naked."

"In your prime, then," Louis chuckles. Harry only nods seriously which makes Louis laugh just that little bit more.

"Yeah, that was probably my favourite bit, just being able to do what I wanted and not have to worry about walking out of the house to everyone taking a picture of me and analysing me."

"Did you get noticed over there?"

"Yeah. More than I expected too, actually."

"Harry, you're still apart of the biggest boyband, that doesn't change in Italy."

Harry laughs. "Yeah, I know. But like, _Italy_. I don't know why but I thought maybe I could be someone else there. But if I went into the city I was always spotted, so I stayed around the villa mostly, stayed on the beach. It was nice. It was private, so no one else was around. Sometimes it was a little too quiet." He has a sad smile on his face as he says it. "But, yeah. I didn't go out that much, didn't want all the attention whilst I was there. I wanted it to be like a proper holiday, I just wanted to be unseen for a little while, go off the grid. So I stayed inside, wrote some songs, slept on the beach. It was relaxing."

"Well, you definitely managed the off the grid part," Louis says, only a slight bitterness in his voice.

Harry loses the faraway look he had on his face, zoning back into Louis, his face dropping into something more sad and hurt. They're silent for a beat or two, both finished with their cereal. Louis looks down at his bowl anyway, running his spoon in the left over milk at the bottom of it just so he doesn't have to look at Harry.

"I am sorry for leaving the way I did," Harry's voice is so quiet, honesty bleeding though it, a vulneralbility hidden in there too. Louis looks back up to find Harry still staring at him, a serious look on his face.

"It's fine, H. Like I said last night, you don't have to explain yourself to me," Louis says, giving something that he hopes resembles a smile, but he knows it looks pathetic and sad.

"I know. You keep saying that. But I want too, so, please, let me."

Louis studies him sitting at the table, his shoulders hunched slightly, his body curling in on itself, but his face is open, and Louis doesn't want to make this any harder for him, so he nods.

"I've never been away from you, always had you right there by my side. And then suddenly we're talking all this shit about breaking up, and I didn't know how to handle it. It wasn't like I could be angry at you- there was nothing to be angry about. And you were so good with me, made sure I was feeling okay, hugged me when I thought I was going to break right there in our bedroom, the one that I knew I was never going to sleep in again. And you kissed me, you told me you loved me. But it didn't make me feel any better because I knew we was letting go. I never thought we would let go." Harry's voice breaks at the end, and Louis can feel pricking at his eyes. It's scary how much the words reflect his conversation with Zayn only a few days ago outside the cafe toilets. "I didn't know how to be just your friend, I didn't know how to behave around you, and then it hit me - I should learn to be by myself first. So that's what I done."

It's silent again, and the warm glow of the sunrise is gone, just the bleak October light now settling in the room.

"Did it help?" Louis finds himself asking.

Harry doesn't look at him when he shakes his head.

Louis's heart is sitting in his throat. Harry doesn't know how to behave around him. Harry doesn't know how to just be his friend.

And the thing is, Louis doesn't know how to do them things, either, when it comes to Harry.

"So, why Italy?" he asks, trying to bring them back to a lighter topic.

Harry shrugs. "I don't know. We've been there before for shows and stuff obviously, but I don't feel like I've ever really _been_ there, ya know? I've always loved their whole way of living, so calm and chilled. So I thought that would be the best option. It was one of the first places that popped into my head."

"So you liked it then?"

"Yeah. It could have been one of my favourite places," Harry says.

"It's not?" Louis asks, confused. Harry shakes his head. "Why not?"

There's a pause, and Louis doesn't think Harry's going to answer him, but then they're looking at each other, and Louis can tell Harry has no control over what slips out.

"You weren't there."  
  
  
  
  
  


They're at the studio by lunch time, Harry having drove them both there, the journey not necessarily awkward, but Louis has a suspicion that Harry felt like he had said to much over breakfast.

They didn't have much time to react in any type of way because Anne had come downstairs and ate her breakfast with both of them still at the table. But Harry had said that Italy wasn't his favourite place because Louis wasn't with him, and Louis can't help the way butterflies erupt inside him and beat against his ribs anytime he thinks about the way Harry had looked at him, earnest eyes and a small, sad smile on his face, almost whispering the words.

_You weren't there._

They're at the same studio as last time, and when they arrive the other boys are already there, but now there's two other men. Louis feels like he's vaguely seen them before, and when they're introduced to him by an over excited Niall as Ben and James, he realises that they are producers.

They might have been here before, times when Louis was hungover, still out of his head with drink or drugs, but he can't quite match them to any of his memories. It's annoying to feel like you've lost so much time, annoying that you can't remember what you done on what day, what you looked like, what you said. The last four months are a big blur to Louis, one that feels short but so very long, like there was no concept of time and Louis had to figure things out for himself.

Only bits of the past few months come to him, flashes of images, and they're faint, like he wasn't really there, but they're all he can grab onto. His mind seems to run through his time, but only the odd moment sticks out slightly more than the others - the small shot glasses lined up on the red bar, the golden liquid turned honey by the laser lights that flickered past; the coldness of a drink being spilled down the back of his t-shirt on the dance floor; his bathroom ceiling not staying still as he lay next to the toilet. He even has an image of Liam hovering over him whilst he sat in the arm chair in this very studio, his face almost angry, but so worried at the same time, offering a bottle of water that Louis couldn't even reach out to get.

Louis shakes out of it as he shakes both of the men's hands, introducing himself, and they make no indication that he's already done this before, so maybe he hasn't met them. As Harry introduces himself, Louis walks over to where Liam and Zayn are sitting, the written up lyrics to where do broken hearts go in front of them.

"So, what are we doing today?" Louis asks. Both of them look up at him, and both of them give him some of the biggest smiles he's seen in a long time.

"We're going to record this song. And then if we want to do some writing after, we can," Zayn says, his toothy grin still on his face. It confuses Louis, but he gives him a small smile anyway.

"Why are we all looking so happy?" he says after another 20 seconds of them not being able to stop.

"No reason," Liam quickly says, but the smile still doesn't leave his face as he goes back to reading over the lyrics. Louis only hums, not bothering to nag them about it.

Niall comes over to join them, slapping Louis on the back a bit too hard, and he's smiling just as much.

"What the fuck has gotten into you guys? Are you high or something?" Louis jokes.

"No, of course not," Zayn suddenly looks serious, as if the prospect of getting high is outrageous, which is weird because if Louis wants to get high with someone, Zayn is always up for it.

"We're just happy that you're you, mate," Niall says, always the honest one. Louis looks inbetween them all, and none of them deny it. 

_S_ _o they're happy that I'm not out of it_ , he thinks. He is slightly offended, almost wants to scream at them that it won't last long, that as soon as this week with Harry is over again he's most likely going to seek out things he shouldn't and that they shouldn't be disappointed when that happens, but he can't. He gives them a weak smile instead, happy to be distracted by Harry coming over to join them.

The producers have already split the song into parts, deligating each section to one of them, and then they're off recording, each of them going in at a time to sing their part, maybe sing some harmonies as well if that's what the producers want, the clunky earphones playing the beat that Liam and Niall created the day they wrote the song, only now it's been adapted by the producers so that it's more upbeat, all the right instuments and beat drops, much more professional.

Louis can't help but stare in awe when Harry goes in to sing. He hasn't heard that voice in 4 months, and he feels like something settles in his stomach when he hears Harry sing the first few notes.

He remembers the first few weeks of Harry being gone, a period of time where Louis was still pretending like he existed instead of acting like he had never even heard his name before. He remembers laying in bed and he had been going through his phone, just looking at things, when he came aross some voice notes saved. When he clicked on them, they had been Harry. Well, Harry and himself.

It was just them humming tunes together, ones they thought might work for a particular song, and then there was a few lyrics in there too. Louis listened to them until they stopped becoming some small part of Harry, listened to them until they might as well have been on the album because Louis new every time Harry's voice dropped, every note he sung, every place that his voice cracked slightly.

Louis had never been so annoyed at himself for listening to something so much. It went from being something that was so Harry, so _them_ , just some goofy voice notes in his phone that never really went anywhere. It went from being this thing that made Louis feel like he still had a part of Harry there with him, a reflection of their little life they had created, and then it turned into this thing that Louis would cry too, listen to with desperation, and he soon started to feel liked it wasn't something new, it wasn't something he could listen to anymore and pretend that Harry was right there in the room with him, singing along to a soft guitar.

He didn't listen to them again, and if Louis remembers correctly, that was the first night he poured himself a drink.

But listening to Harry now, in the studio, he loves it. This _is_ something new, and Harry is there right in front of him. He's really there, not just his voice coming through the tinny speaker of Louis's phone.

Louis feels someone sit down next to him, and he looked to find Zayn perched on the arm of the chair.

"How's it going? The whole Harry thing?" he asks, following Louis's eyeline when he turns back to Harry.

"Yeah, yeah it's good. We don't really do much, just chill out really. It's actually kind of better than I thought it would be." Zayn hums, giving him a worried glance, and Louis knows exactly what he's thinking - _don't get attatched again_.

And Louis knows he shouldn't, has been telling himself off for the past few days every time he feels warmed by Harry's smile, everytime he shivers at Harry's hand brushing his, every time they wrap themselves around each other before they go to sleep, but he can't help himself.

He excepted a long time ago that Harry was it for him, and he would never not love him in the way he knows he shouldn't, in the way he knows would be much easier for everyone if he didn't. But how can you erase a love for someone who you've believed you would marry since you were 18? It's impossible.

"And how are you?" Zayn breaks Louis's gaze from Harry behind the glass of the studio. He instantly misses the sight of his strained neck as he sings the chorus that Louis wrote, veins prominent.

"Much better. The past couple nights I've been sleeping much easier, and I still haven't touched any drink or anything. I don't think I want too, not until I've got everything back on track."

Zayn hums approvingly this time, and Louis feels his hand on the back of his neck, a comforting gesture.

"Thank you, Zayn," Louis whispers, but he knows Zayn heard him as his hand tightens slightly.

He doesn't say what he's thanking him for, and he's not even quite sure he knows himself, but he does know that Zayn deserves it.

*

Louis wakes up slowly, a slight ache in his pelvis that is hot. He tries to ignore it at first, squeezing his eyes to go back to sleep, but he can't. He feels like he's still dreaming, in a state between sleep and consciouness, but he's almost certain he still has his arms wrapped around Harry if the weight against him and the hair in his mouth is anything to go by.

He groans low when another flash of heat rocks through his whole body, and his own voice seems to wake him up slightly, and that's when he realises that, yes, he does have Harry in his arms for the first time since waking up in this house, but Harry is ever so slightly rubbing his bum up against Louis's dick.

Louis's mouth flies open in a silent gasp, both from shock of Harry's actions, and from another shock lighting up his hips.

He moves his hand down from Harry's stomach that's tensing everytime he moves back, and grips onto his hip instead. He doesn't stop him, but he doesn't encourage him either.

"What are you doing, love?" he asks into the otherwise quiet room. The sun is up, and Louis's not quite sure what time it is, not really sure what day it is either.

The only reply Louis gets is a muffled whine.

He stops Harry's movement this time, and lifts himself up onto his forearm as he uses Harry's hip to roll him onto his back. He's met with a sight for sore eyes, one that he hasn't seen in too long. Harry lays on his back, his chest moving more rapidly than it should be for just laying down, and he's flushed from his neck up, a flush which Louis knows goes down below the collar of t-shirt, his lips bitten red.

Louis stares from his lips to is eyes, that are looking ever so slightly blown, just on the right side of wild. He also looks like he might cry any second.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Louis whispers, stroking the long curls away from Harry's face so that they create a halo around his head on the pillow. He hasn't touched them in so long, and they're just as soft as he remembers, and he's wants to play with them all the time, tug on them now that they're longer than the short quiff he used to have. Harry shakes his head whilst also managing to push himself further into Louis's hand, looking down at Louis's clothed chest.

Louis doesn't say anything, just moves his hand closer to Harry's scalp, wiggling his fingers into the roots of his curls. Harry's eyelashes flutter closed and then open again as Louis scratches his skin gently with his blunt fingernails, and the stare he's giving Louis almost makes his heart stop. Thay look at each other for a long while, Louis still hovering to the side of Harry, looking down on him as Harry looks up, his neck stretched slightly to keep Louis's fingers in his hair that curl and uncurl, never stopping.

Louis feels like they're teenagers again, Harry being all shy and unsure of what to do - what he's allowed to do. Louis knows that that's a far cry from the boy he ends up being, the one who knows exactly what he wants, has no boundaries with Louis, trusts him to do the things he wants most.

"Haz," Louis whispers gently, not wanting to disturb this peacful position, but he can still see a small turmoil behind Harry's eyes.

"I want to kiss you," Harry ends up saying, squeezing his eyes shut as soon as he says the words.

Louis freezes, his hand staying in a tight fist in Harry's hair. He definitely didn't expect that. Harry open his eyes again, slowly, and they're so bright and vulnerable that Louis knows he'll do anything for this boy in front of him, will give him everything he wants.

But the past four months keep popping up in the back of his mind; the hurt, the pain, the crying, the torture. His own, personal, living hell.

"I don't think we should do that, baby," Louis says, which only makes Harry whine again, tipping his head back slightly to make Louis move his hand again, his chin now close to Louis's lips.

Louis starts playing with his hair again anyway, and he knows Harry can feel his breaths on his face, can feel them rebounding and hitting his own ever so gently, so he's thankful when Harry drops his head back down to the pillow fully.

"I really want too, Lou," his voice sounds broken, "Just like before," he whispers. He sounds desperate, and Louis feels it in his own chest. He looks back down at Harry's lips, the bottom one now caught inbetween his teeth in an act of hope. Louis runs his thumb across it, setting it free, his hand cupping Harry's jaw. The skin is soft, and his lip only gets darker the more Louis touches it. He's imagining what they'll look like if he does kiss him, and his imagination is only spurred on by Harry lightly pecking his thumb, his lips staying plush to it.

Louis swallows, looking back up into his eyes, and they're already looking back at him. He didn't realise how close they were, and he's certain that his neck has dropped his head closer to Harry subconsciously.

"Please," Harry breathes.

And so Louis does.

He knows he shouldn't, is already mentally kicking himself, but as soon as his lips touch Harry's, he _never_ wants to stop.

They're soft as they open in a gasp, surprised, and Louis catches the top one between his own, sucking gently. Harry's mouth closes again, enclosing around Louis's, and Louis suddenly feels like them four months mean absolutely nothing. This is all that matters, the boy in front of him who's whining high in his throat, soft breaths coming from his nose and hitting their lips.

Louis feels Harry tugging at the side of his t-shirt, effectively getting him to shift over so that he's hovering over Harry's whole body, knees on either side of his thighs. Everything becomes more urgent, Harry's hands wrapping around Louis's neck, Louis's hand that's not in Harry's hair trailing back down to his hip, holding him against the bed.

All of their kisses, the billions that they've had over the duration of their relationship, none of them match up to this. They haven't done this in four months, and that's the longest they've ever gone not speaking, let alone kissing.

Louis suddenly feels like everything he's ever felt is being poured into this one act, and Harry seems to be doing the same, their grips on each other tightening as they practically mewl each other. Louis's not even deterred when Harry pulls him down so he's fully on top of him, so every part of them is touching, their chests pressing tighter together every time they breathe in, to their ankles twisted together under the sheets. And Louis can feel that Harry's hard, and he's still hard to, the image of Harry rocking back into him this morning whilst he was still asleep now prominent in his mind as Harry ruts up into his thigh, gasping at the contact.

There's a knock at the door, and they're both suddenly pulled back to the bedroom, their lips stilling but not moving away from each other.

"Guys, mum's made breakfast for us," Gemma's voice comes from the other side of the wood, and they here her walking away, her footsteps growing more distant until they hear the familiar noise of her trotting down the stairs at the end of the hall.

Louis pulls his face off of Harry's, looking down at him. He looks slightly embarrassed, a sheepish smile on his face in apology for the intrusion that makes Louis laugh lightly.

"I guess it wouldn't really be normal if they didn't interrupt at least once," Louis laughs. It makes Harry giggles too, and Louis's sure all of the memories of Anne or Gemma, or even his own family, walking in on them are playing for Harry too, often in much more compromising positions than is acceptable. Louis doesn't think there's ever been a time when their families have come to stay and they haven't had to seperate like they weren't just practically having sex.

Louis remembers one time in the summer, sitting on the kitchen counter in his swim trunks, Harry between his legs, sucking the flavour of an ice lolly off his tongue. Of course, Harry decided to be daring, sneaking his hand up is swimming trunks and thumbing at his tip, making Louis writhe up against him. Harry had been halfway through the hand job when Louis's sister had walked in. Harry had to quickly remove his hand, leaving Louis achingly hard and breathing into his neck heavily to avoid his sister's gaze, only looking up when he heard her closing the sliding door leading out to the garden. He had playfully slapped Harry's chest when all Harry could do was laugh and leave him to run upstairs to finish himself off, alone.

Now though, Harry leans up, giving him a much softer kiss, gentle and slow. Louis breathes him in, and then he's pulling away, grudgingly rolling off of Harry, away from their cocoon of warmth.

He's not quite sure what just happened, hs body not registering it yet, and he's not sure how to feel.

He ends up leaving Harry in the bed and jumping in the shower, getting himself off, and he realises that every morning that he's been here he's made himself come. He tries not to think too much about it as he gets out, putting on some clothes and walking back through the bedroom, Harry gone. But just as he's about to get to the door, he almost trips over Harry's sweatpants, the material almost artfully placed on the floor by Harry, displaying the wetness of his come in the crotch.

Louis chokes at the sight.

Harry most definitely knows what he's doing. He really is a menace.   
  
  


Breakfast is a rather peaceful experience considering what happened in the bedroom. Louis thought things might be awkward, that all of these sudden doubts and regrets would start popping up and he would have to swallow each one of them down, but they never come. Louis thinks the secretive smiles that Harry keeps sending him might have something to do with it.

He knows they shouldn't have done it, knows that he's just going backwards, knows that Harry probably doesn't think it means that much, just a quick slip, so he decides that he won't think of it as anything else either. It was just a slip up, something that they can move past, pretend it didn't happen if that's what they both want, and Louis can pretend that it didn't make him feel everything he was already feeling for Harry even stronger. He can act like he wasn't effected, and even though he was, he excepts it. He knows that he'll forever be tied up with Harry, and he's now fully prepared to live his life admiring him, loving him, but never with him. He doesn't want anyone else, but the idea of living his life without Harry as his forever partner doesn't seem so frightening anymore, as long as he has Harry in some way, even if it's the smallest part of him.

He feels a calmness settle over him for the first time in months, a calmness he didn't know he obtained anymore. As long as Harry was apart of his life, he would be fine, no matter how hard it is to love someone and not be with them. He will be fine, as long as Harry's smile is still something he gets to see, even if he's not be the cause of it.

He will be fine.

Louis gets a message from Liam at around 10 o'clock saying that they're all going out for lunch, and him and Harry have to be there. Louis feels bad about abandoning Anne and Gemma for the second time, but they both insist that it's fine, that they want to go get their hair done at a place on the highstreet that's meant to have had amazing reviews, and they want to have a mother-daughter day.

They come to an agreement that they'll have a film night when they get back though so that they spend some time together. They leave tomorrow, and the whole purpose of them coming was to see Harry, but they've barely had any time with him. Louis says as much, and Anne just hushes him, saying that Louis hadn't seen him either so they had the right to want to go out for lunch with their friends.

So Harry and Louis are now in the car, pulling up outside the pub that they always go to when the boys want to go out, the place conveniently being around the same distance from each of their homes. Louis could walk his way back to his own house drunk from here, has done many times, mostly with Harry holding him up and giggling into his neck as they stumbled in the dark, craving their bed.

He's not so sure he would be able to find Harry's new house quite so easily.

They find Niall in one of the booths at the back, scrolling through his phone, a half empty pint of beer sitting in front of him.

"Ah, I didn't know if you guys would come," he says, sliding out of the booth to give them both brotherly hugs, and Louis is only slightly offended when he feels like he squeezes Harry just that bit tighter than he did him.

They sit opposite him, Louis taking Harry's jacket and lying it on top of his in the spce between his thighs and the wall whilst Harry orders them both an orange juice. Louis knows that Harry won't drink a drop of alcohol even though they're in a pub, at least not whilst Louis is around.

"What are you doing?" Louis asks Niall, who's attention has returned to his phone, almost burning a hole through it.

"The match is on, and I betted on manchester, but they're down by two goals," he huffs, chucking his phone back on the table in defeat.

"How long they got left?" Harry asks. Niall takes a long sip of his beer, the foam sticking to his top lip which he removes with a smack of his tongue.

"20 minutes, maybe?"

"They might still recover," Louis says, although he doesn't know if they will. He didn't even know there was a match on today, hasn't thought about something as trivial as football in a long while, and he misses it. Niall grunts in response, not believing that the team will salvage themselves, but doesn't say anything else about it.

"How's your mum?" Niall asks, peering over the rim of his glass at Harry. In the few minutes they've been here, he's managed to gulp down the rest of his drink, only a few small moutfuls left that he chucks back in one gulp.

"Yeah, yeah she's good. Haven't had as much time with her as I'd hoped, but I'll see her at Christmas."

"And Gemma?"

"She leaves tomorrow too, says she can't get the time off work for a full week. But we're doing a film night tonight so that should be interesting," Harry smiles, looking genuinely enthusiastic. Louis just knows that Harry and Anne are going to gang up against Gemma and himself by wanting to watch some stupid romantic comedy, and he knows they'll probably get away with it because they both do these puppy eyes that not even the devil could refuse.

"You're going to make them watch some soppy film, aren't ya?" Niall cackles, making Louis snort. Niall does always seem to speak Louis's thoughts.

Harry gawks, as if the concept is entirely ridiculous and he would never do such a thing, but then Liam's standing at the end of the table.

"Hey Li," Niall says, still on laughing to himself. The boy will probably still be laughing long after the joke has ended.

"Hey," Liam flashes a smile, sliding in next to Niall, chucking his wallet on the table. The server comes over, Harry's and Louis's drinks in her hand, and she takes Liam's order as Niall's phone lights up with a message. It's quite comical to watch his face light up, jaw dropping.

"Yes! Get in! They scored!" His voice is much to loud for the casual hum of the pub, but nobody pays them much mind.

"Who?" Liam asks, shrugging his coat off.

"Manchester."

"Shit, I betted on Chelsea," Liam mutters, leaning over to look at Niall's phone.

"Well, we're still one goal behind." Niall loses his excitement a little, but there's a hopeful look on his face when he puts his phone back down.

Zayn's there within another 5 minutes, shuffling in next to Harry until Louis has to sit on the pile of coats, his hip digging into the wall, Harry's thigh pressed against his. They need to make the booths bigger, he thinks.

They order food, and soon they're all speaking over one another, their conversations overlapping, but nobody comes over to tell them to shut up. Louis can hear Liam telling Harry about this plant in his house, one that seems to be dying and he has no idea what to do, and Louis wants to smile fondly when Harry tells him that this particular plant doesn't need much sunlight, so maybe Liam should try moving it off the window sill. Zayn manages to steer their conversation onto a more interesting topic, telling them some story about one of his art works selling, and it must have a funny ending because the three of them are laughing, still trying to speak over each other.

But Louis's speaking to Niall, trying to block out their noise so he can hear him from across the table. They're both watching the phone for any new alerts of the score changing, and Niall's insisting that he's got hayfever, no matter how many times Louis tells him that it's October and people don't normally get hayfever around this time of year.

They sit there for a few hours, talking and laughing, drinking drink after drink as they slowly finish their food. The pub is starting to fill out a bit more now, growing louder as the crowd of people standing round the bar section and occupying the tables gets bigger. Somehow, Louis's ended up twisting his body so his back is against the wall, his arm along the back of the booth, his hand stroking against Harry's neck. Harry only leans back into it, so Louis thinks its okay. They cheer when the match finishes in a draw, a few other people in the pub doing the same when someone turns on the tv in the corner to watch the last five minutes where Manchester manage to score. Niall has carried on teasing Harry about the whole film situation because he can't seem to find anything else to tease the boys about, and Harry's insisting that they will not be watching something sappy, turning to Louis at one point, pleading that he back him up. Louis goes along with it, laughing as he says "sure, babe, whatever you say," Harry huffing when he realises nobody's going to believe him no matter what he says.

Louis makes Zayn and Harry stand up from their side of the booth so that he can climb out and go to the toilet. He's feeling hot, and has to squeeze inbetween the many people now standing around as he makes his way to the back of the pub.

He goes out the back door after he uses the toilet, pulling his cigarettes from his back pocket. It's the middle of the afternoon now, the sky a bleak grey as he stands under it, the smoke from his cigarette curling up until he can't distinguish it against the clouds. But it's a bit too cold out, and he ends up stomping on the cigarette before he's even half way through with it, shuffling back inside where he's hit with heat again.

He's just got to the table, standing aside as Harry and Zayn shuffle back out so he can get to his seat, when he feels his shoulder get shoved, a drink soaking through his t-shirt and clinging to his back. His body shivers, having felt this sensation far too much in the past few months, and he almost dry heaves when the smell of alcohol reaches his nose as he turns round, some girl who looks too young to be holding a drink in her hand spluttering an apology.

"It's fine, love, no harm done," he's saying as his stomach twists. It's like his whole body is screaming at him to not touch the drink, and he can't believe it repulses him so much considering it used to be his lifeline.

"Hey, aren't you in that band?" the girl's now saying. Her eyes grow when she looks back at the table, spotting the rest of 'that band' sitting behind Louis.

"Oh my god. I love you guys! I can't believe I'm meeting you in a pub!" Her shouts are too loud, her voice high and squealing. Louis's getting the same feeling he got during that interview, the feeling where he's lightheaded, his chest caving in and preventing oxygen getting to his brain. He feels himself stumble back, and suddenly there's hands on his hips keeping him steady.

"Hey, you okay?" It's Liam holding him up, Louis knows that, but he's voice sounds muffled and distant.

He's suddenly transported by his mind, a club setting now surrounding him instead of their local pub. It's not a club he's been to before, rather a club made up of all the ones he had been galloping between in the heart of London. He feels drunk, his feet swaying as they pound with the base of music he knows isn't being played in reality, but his bones shake with it. He can't see properly, but he can smell. He can smell the stupid, cheap alcohol that he would throw up every night, the sweat of people he didn't know clinging to him, the smell of smoke and weed in his hair, even Rick's stupid cologne that always dried out his throat.

And he can feel too, can feel someone brushing past him, someone stepping on his foot, the stifling heat that feels like it's suffocating him. And the undeniable feeling of loneliness, an empty space next to him. And he knows its Harry that he wants to see standing next to him, but he can't grasp his surroundings, the drink making his head foggy. He knows he had been drinking to _forget_ Harry, but now he suddenly feels the need to grab onto any part of him, begging his body to get himself to him, wherever it is he may be. But he's not there. _He's not there._

But then he is.

He's standing right in front of Louis, a strong grip on his shoulders as he looks at him, face broken with concern. And Louis's back in the pub.

He doesn't think he's been out of it for too long, Niall and Zayn still sitting at the table and peering up at him, the girl still next to them, flicking her eyes between them all like she's not quite sure what's happening, and Louis can still feel his drenched shirt on his skin. He's not drunk, he's not somewhere he doesn't know, and he's not alone.

"Lou, you okay?" Harry's eyes are flicking to each of his. Louis suddenly feels very calm. Harry's there. Harry's with him. He doesn't need to worry. Harry will take care of him.

He grows less and less disorientated, his feet feeling like they're on solid gorund again, and his thoughts are coming back fully instead of being stilted and not making sense.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. Just felt dizzy for a sec," Louis says, managing to pull Harry's hands off his shoulders to prove that he can stand by himself. Harry's still looking at him like he's worried, but he doesn't comment, instead stepping closer to Louis like he thinks he might collapse any second. Louis kind of thinks that too.

They sit back down, the girl slipping away when the table is silent. Harry orders him a water, and Louis rubs at his eyes that still hold flickers of an unknown club.

"You alright, mate?" Niall asks. Louis winces at his loud voice, but nods nonetheless.

"Yeah, I don't know what that was." He takes a few deep breaths as Harry places the water in front of him. He takes small sips, not wanting to disturb his stomach again. The boys are only quiet for a few more minutes, starting back up the conversation when Louis's half done with the water.

He can still smell the alcohol on his t-shirt, so he breathes through his mouth instead. He stills when he feels Harry's hand on his thigh, squeezing, comforting, rubbing his thumb on top of it. It helps Louis to relax soon enough, and he settles into his seat again, laughing as Zayn snorts up the foam on the top of his beer.

They're not there for much longer before Harry announces that they should be getting home.

They hug the boys goodbye, Niall slightly tipsy and repeating that they haven't all been out as the five of them in 4 months like it's the most shocking revelation of the decade, and that Harry and Louis shouldn't be going home just yet. He whines, says comments like "but Haz, we only just got you back," which makes everyone laugh, Louis joking that he sounds like the wife of a soldier going back to war. Niall only glares at him, stating that Harry is and always will be his favourite, which Liam hits him across the shoulder for.

"You shouldn't pick favourites, Ni," he says, in a fatherly tone that only makes Niall laugh.

He clings to Harry, and Liam and Zayn have to peel him off, Harry laughing and patting his back when Niall looks like he's going to cry. Maybe he's more than tipsy. Harry reassures him that they don't want to leave, but Anne and Gemma are waiting for them, and he gives him a loud kiss on his forehead before he's dragging Louis away from them by the wrist when Niall makes a move to cling onto Louis instead.

They can hear him shouting "I love you, you fuckers!" as they get to the door. Louis waves over his head, producing his middle finger, and he hears the echo of Niall's cackle as they step outside.

Only, when they get outside, there's cameras.

"Fuck," Harry mutters. The men start shouting, falshes going off as they spot them.

But they're used to this, they know what they need to do.

Harry drops Louis's wrist, and Louis steps behind him so that Harry's broad back hides him from sight. The cameras are all down the left side of the street, the small sidewalk and busy road not allowing them to get to their side of the pavement. Louis pulls up his hood, shoving his hands up into the sleeves of his coat as he keeps his head down, Harry manouvering himself until he's blocking Louis from the cameras as they walk to the car.

Louis knows that, due to the distance, the photos should be blurry, and although he knows fans will speculate, try and pick out every little detail that alludes to it being him, there'll be no hard evidence to back it up. They'll probably get a call from managment when the photos get sent out, a scolding for being out in public so openly, but that's all. They've dealt with that for 4 years now, it doesn't scare them much.

Louis climbs into the car, laughing at Harry who walks around it and nearly falls up the curb before righting himself. He climbs in, a high blush on his cheeks, but he starts laughing to, his dimple popping out as he looks down at his lap, eyes closed as he shakes his head in embarassment, both of them knowing that the cameras would have caught that, at least. 

He starts the car, spinning it round so they don't drive past the cameras, knowing from experience that they'll dive into the road if it means they can get a picture through the window. 

"I can't believe they found us. We've never been caught at this place," Louis mutters as he watches them get smaller in the side view mirror.

"Maybe someone called them, told them we were all there. I bet they're waiting for the others to come out now."

"Well, they probably just wanted a picture of the one who went rogue," Louis jokes. Harry hasn't been photographed in a while. Them pictures of him will probably sell for thousands. 

"Me or you?" Harry says, his smile turning cheeky as he looks at Louis from the corner of his eye. Louis punches his shoulder, but laughs anyway. The media really must be going into a frenzy over the two of them; one disappears for months and can't be written about whilst the other becomes even more of a party animal than he was, making enough headlines for the both of them. 

Louis shifts in his seat, his shirt now dry but stiff from the drink. 

"This was one of my favourite shirts," he grumbles, looking down at his t-shirt. It's a pink floyd one, and he adores it. It's soft and old, so worn in that it just becomes more comfortabe with every wash. He pulls it away from his chest as Harry looks at it. 

"Lou, you've had that since before I can even remember. I'm pretty sure you wore it on one of our first dates, in fact. Albeit, it was in much better condition back then," Harry says as he makes a sharp turn, nearly sending them up a curb. Louis gasps. 

"You used to wear it to bed. You love this shirt just as much as I do," he exclaims, pointing an accusing finger. Harry doesn't disagree with him. 

"We'll just put it in the wash along our sweatpants," Harry mutters. 

Louis makes a contented hum, but then back tracks. _Our? Our sweatpants?_

It hits him. The sweatpants he left on the bathroom floor that morning after coming in them in the bed. He never went back to pick them up before Harry could find them, and they're certainly no longer in there after two days. He would have noticed. Shit. 

"Shit." 

Harry cackles, throwing his head back. Louis groans, shoving his head into his hands. Harry wasn't supposed to find them. Louis was meant to sneakily put them in along with Harry's washing. He forgot. 

Is that why Harry had left his out? The image is imprinted in his mind, Harry's grey sweatpants placed on the floor to show the crotch, the material darkened by Harry's come. Louis lifts his head, looking over at Harry who's still got that stupid grin on his face. 

"I hate you."

Harry only cackles again. 

Louis comes back from the kitchen, trying to balance the four bowls in his arms filled with popcorn and crisps. Gemma is already settled on the sofa, a big blanket wrapped around her as she leans against the arm of the sofa, legs curled up and hair in a bun. Harry and Anne are by the TV, Harry kneeling on the floor, head in the dvd cupboard below it. He's passing multiple up to a waiting Anne who inspects each one, throwing some on the sofa next to Gemma and keeping some in her hand.

Harry stands up, almost smacking his head, just as Louis's putting the bowls down onto the coffee table. 

"Right, so we've got P.S I Love You, Me Before You, The Notebook, or Grease," Anne says, looking at the ones she's holding in her hands, grimacing on the last one. But Louis and Gemma are already saying Grease, urgency in their voices, as well as shock, surprised that it was even an option. It's the one with the least amount of soppy romance, and it also happens to be Louis's all time favourite film, and he's getting excited already. 

Anne looks over at Harry, clearly hoping that he's going to say one of the other ones so that she can agree with him and it'll be two on two, but he surprises everyone when he says that he doesn't mind watching Grease. He knows it's Louis's favourite film, Louis being the one to make him watch it for the first time when they first started dating. Louis had sung every single one of the songs, and it made him happy after Harry had just forced him to watch the Notebook, resulting in them crying in front of each other for the first time. 

Harry jumps onto the other sofa, spreading himself out along it as Anne presses play on the film. She sits down next to Gemma, pulling at the blanket until Gemma lets her have a peice to cover her legs.

Louis hesitates, but he knows he has to go sit with Harry. One, because there's no room on the other sofa, and two, because, well, Anne and Gemma think they're still hopelessly in love and in a commited relationship. It would be weird if Louis decided to take the floor. 

He makes his way over to Harry's sofa, but Harry doesn't sit up to vacate the other end. He instead spreads his legs as he sits up against the arm of the chair, leaving a small space for Louis to climb into.

Louis can only sigh as he stepps into the space, turning round and sitting in between Harry's legs, laying back against his chest as the iconic cartoon scene that starts the film begins.

He feels Harry's thighs tighten around his hips, closing him in as he snakes his arms around his stomach, and Louis's body naturally becomes placid, sinking back into Harry's chest as his body calms with the scent of coconuts. 

He knows this film off by heart. Having played Danny for his school production when he was a teenager, he's very familiar with the story line. He knows that he used to make Harry watch it too many times to be exceptable, so he's not surprised that Harry knows all the songs and even the script for the sleepover scene.

The thing is, Harry's currently mumbling the words into his neck, his lips moving gently over the skin behind his ear. At first Louis doesn't know if Harry realises that he's doing it. But the fact that his soft breaths are hitting one of the few spots that make Louis get hard very quickly, he finds it hard to believe that Harry is doing this out of innocence. His suspicions only grow when Harry stops echoing the words of the scene but continues to mouth at Louis's neck. 

Louis shifts, the itch at the bottom of his stomach starting.

He can feel his thighs tensing and untensing, as if the movement is going to relieve the burn in between them, but it only makes him squirm some more. Harry clearly notices his shift, and he moves his arms so that Louis isn't restrained and can get comfortable again, but he brings them down too low and his forearm ends up brushing across Louis's clothed dick that's half hard just from Harry's lips on his neck.

Harry makes a small whine of surprise as if he's the one who's hard, as if he's the one that's embarassed. Luckily the film is loud enough through the surround sound speakers, and Louis doesn't think the sound reached Anne and Gemma that are only a few feet away on the other sofa. But Louis knows that, if he continues to get hard, all they would have to do is look over and see the tent in Louis's pyjama bottoms. They've seen much worse, but Louis doesn't even want to guess at what they would think of him getting hard in the middle of watching Grease. 

Harry seems to have the same thoughts, pulling the blanket off the back of the sofa so that it falls down over them. Louis spreads it out so that it covers their legs and up to his chin, letting Harry's hands rest on his stomach again.

But Louis now knows that Harry knows exactly what he's doing, because his lips are against Louis's neck again almost immediately. 

Louis lays his head back so that it's over Harry's shoulder, and although its much harder to see the TV this way, it gives Harry more access to his neck, which he doesn't mind. Harry takes the hint, nipping at Louis's exposed neck that is being presented to him, flesh the colour of honey, tasting just as sweet. Louis swallows each of his moans, his hands curled into fists on his chest under the blanket, his whole body seizing up in anticipation when Harry bites but then melting when Harry licks over it with light flickers of his tongue in a soothing motion, his hot breaths caressing him. 

"I wish I could hear you," Harry whispers, breath hot and heavy in his ear. Louis knows that if he looks up, Harry's eyes will be blown, lips red from marking Louis's skin. It makes Louis shiver. 

They've always been possessive with each other, Harry always marking Louis's neck (which often got them into trouble when it was time to go on stage or do an interview) whilst Louis enjoyed marking up Harry's thighs. He used to love the contrast of the bruises against Harry's milky white skin.

It was quite a territoral move, Louis knowing that when their stylists would dress Harry they would be able to see all of the marks and have no right to comment on it, no right to touch him where only Louis was allowed to go.

It also meant that Louis could press down on them through the material of Harry's jeans under the table during a meeting, or when they were sitting on a plane on their way to the next country, or at a party only for the elites who would turn a blind eye to almost anything. And the thing Louis loved most about it was that it always got Harry hard within a split second, so hard that Louis knew his head was a little fuzzy and his legs weren't capable of carrying their full weight. Louis would sometimes even catch Harry pressing his thumb into them himself, eyes wild and a high flush on his cheeks. 

Louis wishes he could do that to him now, wishes he could lay Harry out underneath him and have him trembling, wishes he could mark his skin until Harry wasn't coherent and could only remember his name. But he can't. Louis keeps forgetting that this isn't real. It's some weird, twisted version of reality where he can't touch what he sees. He can't have what he wants most. 

*

Louis wakes up the next morning warm and comfortable, although there's a slight ache at the bottom of his back. He groans, but there's something sticking in his mouth. He lifts his head to find out it's Harry's t-shirt, which is now covered in Louis's drool. He groans again, wiping at the corner of his mouth with his thumb, Harry still peacefully asleep. They must have fallen asleep on the sofa during the second film that Anne insisted they watch, and Louis must have turned throughout the night because he's currently laying on his front on top of Harry, Harry's arms hugging him to his body as he snores gently. 

Louis wishes he could ignore the burning need to pee and just stay here until Harry wakes up, but the pressure in his bladder is too much.

He tries to maneouver out of his position, but their legs are too tangled and Harry only seems to tighten his hold around him, nearly suffocationg Louis into his chest.

Louis hears a muffled laugh over the thump of Harry's heartbeat, and he manages to crane his neck over Harry's arm to find Gemma watching his struggle. She's still in her pyjamas, fluffy socks on her feet and hair slightly greasy from not having showered yet, and she's holding a cup of tea in one hand and an empty plate in the other. Louis wonders how long she's been sitting and eating her breakfast whilst he and Harry slept on the sofa.

He scowls at her, letting her know he's unimpressed with her amusement, but holds his finger to his lips, hushing her when he feels Harry stur under him at Gemma's noise. Gemma stops laughing, and both her and Louis fond over Harry when he settles again, smacking his lips together before resuming his soft snores. 

Louis finally manages to detangle himself from Harry, and after using the bathroom, he joins Gemma in the kitchen where they won't wake Harry up.

"What are you doing up so early?" he asks Gemma when he sees it's only 8. 

"I had to pack, and I want to go shopping before I go," Gemma says, putting the kettle back on for more tea. Louis almost forgot that Anne and Gemma are going home today, and he feels infinitely bad that Harry didn't get to spend as much time with them as he'd hoped. 

"Are you all ready to go then for the train?"

"Physically, yeah. I don't think I'm ready to leave him yet, though," she gestures to the living room where Harry is still unconscious. Louis hums, sad that she's leaving. She hasn't been here as long as Anne, and Louis doesn't even think Anne was here long enough to see her son after four months of nothing. 

"Did you guys sort out whatever you were going through?" Gemma says, pouring the boiling water into the two cups that she pulls down from the cupboard.

"What?" Louis asks, confused. 

"You and Haz. You were going through something right? That's why he packed up for four months?" She asks. She doesn't know, but she's always been good at reading situations, and Louis can't believe that in the last few hours of her being here, they're finally having the conversation that Louis's been dreading.

He thought he he had gotten away with it. 

"Well, it wasn't anything big. We just wanted some space, I guess," he mutters, wrapping his hand around the hot cup that Gemma passes him. She scoffs as they sit at the breakfast bar. 

"Not anything big, my ass. You do know that I helped raise your precious boy in there, right? I watched him grow up. I know him. He's only ever run once before. Do you know when that was?" 

Louis knows when that was, but he stays silent. 

"It was when mum and dad got divorced. He couldn't handle it, he got scared, so he demanded that he stay with our nan in Wales for a month. He only came home when he had to start back at school after summer. I'm sorry to say Louis, but Harry goes everywhere with you, and the fact that he just upped and left without telling anyone, without you going along with him, it just shows that something was going on. And it wasn't like you had the best few months when he was away," Gemma sips at her tea, a satisfied look on her face like she's a lawyer who just presented all of the proof needed. 

Louis just stares at her. He knew this was coming, knew that nothing could escape Gemma's eyes. He knew she would be able to piece the things together that nobody else saw as dots that linked. But he's still shocked when she lays everything out.

"We just wasn't really feeling it, we really did want some space," he sticks to the story that he told her in the beginning, mainly because it's true, although it does leave out many details.

They really did need some space. He just doesn't want to have to explain how they still loved each other but were tired. Tired of the lying, the hiding, the being conrolled. They had done it for nearly four years. But they still loved each other, impossibly so. And it broke their hearts but it had to be done. They had to break up. Louis just didn't realise Harry would abandon him. 

"But now it's okay then? How did you even figure stuff out when you couldn't even talk to each other?" 

Louis feels relief at the realisation that Gemma doesn't know that they're still not together, that they've been faking it the whole week. 

"There wasn't anything to figure out. Like I said, we just wanted to space. And we got that. So when he came back, we just realised how much we missed each other, and it was fine."

"But you were so upset when he left. I saw you. In all of them articles. You looked so sad," Gemma has a pitying look on her face. Louis's just glad she seemed to over look all the stuff them articles were saying about him and understand what he was really feeling. 

"Well, of course I was sad. He was gone. And I couldn't even talk to him. All I wanted to do was call him up and speak to him, even if it was just to say goodnight, let him know I was still there. But I couldn't. I guess it just drove me a bit insane," Louis confesses, but he still leaves out the big things, the nights he cried himself to sleep, the days where he wasn't even sure his heart was beating, the moments when he genuinely thought that he was seeing Harry right there next to him, a ghost of the boy that he hadn't just lost for a period of time, but a ghost of a boy he had lost forever.

He doesn't tell her that he had to see so many doctors to find a cure to his insomnia that he ended up giving up and self medicating instead, going out every night to forget that he was going to wake up alone the next morning. He doesn't tell her that when these same doctors had told him his body was mimicking the process of grief, he started to act like Harry _was_ dead, to the point that he had nightmares of Harry with gunshot wounds, or in a car wreck, his body so mangled that it didn't even look like him, only the sight of a few tattoos, _their_ tattoos, letting Louis know that it was Harry crushed inbetween all of the metal. He doesn't tell her that these nightmares became images that he saw everytime he closed his eyes, making him feel like he could actually smell the blood and causing him to throw up in whatever was closest to him. 

No, he doesn't tell her any of this. He makes it sound like Harry going away was an agreement between the two of them to let each other breathe, when in reality Louis stopped breathing the night they split.

"I can imagine. You must have missed him more than anyone. You're the one that sees him every day," Gemma brings him back to Harry's kitchen, back to their conversation. Louis hums, not sure what else to say, still a bit lost in his head. "If it means anything, I think he loves you even more than before, which I really didn't think was possible," she says, reaching out for Louis's hand. That snaps Louis back fully. 

"What do you mean?" his voice is breathless, barely a whisper. 

"You and Harry have always had something that I'm jealous off. I've never told either of you this, but it hurt so much to see my baby brother at 16 find the love of his life. I was meant to be the first to do that. I was supposed to be the one to give him a relationship to admire and strive for. I was suppposed to be the one he came to for advice about boys. It ended up being the other way round," she laughs with it, shaking her head in embarassment, her hand still tight around Louis's.

"When he first called up mum from the Xfactor house and told us about you, I really wanted to hate you. I knew you were 18, and I really wanted to believe that you were just using him, that it would be a fling that he would cry about and then get over. And then he was asking mum to move in with you, and for some weird reason she said yes, and I wanted to hate you even more - you were taking my little brother away from me. He was so young, and I was scared for him. He was going into this big world of fame, and I wanted to hate you for making me feel like he wasn't my baby brother anymore. But then I met you, and I saw what he saw in you. I could see that you loved him just as much as he loved you, and I couldn't help but be jealous of that. I remember crying to mum that Harry was going to get married before me."

They both laugh, but Louis's is slightly strangled. He's never heard someone else's view on their relationship, especially not someone they're both so close too, someone who's been there from the beginning. 

"I've always looked up to you both. You go through so much shit for being in love. It's unfair. I never realised how strong Harry was though, even so young, and neither of you let anything get to you. You stayed so in love that I knew you would be fine. You would be together forever."

Louis doesn't realise he's crying until he tastes the salty tears in his mouth. They _should_ be together forever. But they won't be.

"Seeing you guys like this now though, it's something else. There's something more there. It's like a fear, but the good kind. Like you don't ever want to lose each other again. So I guess Harry going was a good thing. You've both realised what life is without each other, and you don't ever have to do it again," she says tenderly, and Louis is embarassed when she wipes some of his tears. 

He wants to scream at her that everything she's saying isn't true. They _do_ know what life is like without each other now, but they're going to continue living without each other no matter how much Louis doesn't want too.

He has no idea where Harry stands on the whole matter, but he's come back from Italy different than before. Louis doesn't know what it is, but Harry doesn't seem to be begging on his knees to have forever with Louis again. Louis thinks that Harry's realised that there's more to life than just him, and he's happy now to find those things and experience them, go places and do things without Louis making him detour whenever _he_ wants to do something. He thinks Harry's free-er now, and he doesn't think Harry hates it. 

"You guys really will be okay. I'll bet my whole life on it," she whispers as she stands, wrapping Louis in a hug. 

Louis doesn't have the heart to tell her that she just sacrificed her life for something that's already dead. 

They end up driving Anne and Gemma to the trian station, Harry wanting to fit as much time in with them until they're fully gone.

They spend the car journey talking about how the band is doing, Gemma disappointed that she didn't get to see the other boys, but she agrees that, when she's down for Christmas, they'll all go out.

Anne makes Harry promise that he'll call her every day from now on, and he reassures her that he will, Louis telling her that he'll make sure he does when he looks at her through the rearview mirror to see that she looks unsure. He thinks Harry being gone has made her nervous about leaving him again, like he's just going to perform another disappearing act. She seems to settle at Louis's promise. 

Saying goodbye to them is emotional to say the least. Louis watches as Harry holds on tight to Anne as she kisses his cheek in the middle of the platform, and Louis's sure that there are tears in his eyes. Whilst Anne moves on to hug Louis, Harry almost tackles Gemma. Louis knows that Harry probably misses Gemma more than anyone, what with having grown up in each others pockets and now having to settle with seeing each other for only a few weeks spaced out throughout the year.

He knows it's hard for them, he knows because he has to deal with it too. He misses his family terribly, but it's hard to get six siblings to come see you for a few short days before you have to leave them again. It always hurts saying goodbye. 

After Louis hugs Gemma, him and Harry watch them get on the train, waving and bidding them a safe trip home.

It's only when the train pulls out of the station does Harry start crying. Louis rubs his back, trying to comfort him. He hates seeing Harry cry, although it does always seem to make him look even more ethereal, his eyes always looking a brighter green, enhanced by the red, his lips getting fuller as they form a pout. 

His small pats to the back don't seem to be enough though, because soon, Harry is turning his whole body into Louis's, planting his damp face into Louis's neck so that he doesn't watch the tail end of the train disappear. All Louis can do is wrap his arms around Harry, who's trying to make himself as small as possible so Louis can smother him. 

"It's okay, baby. You can face time them when we get home," Louis whispers, kissing the crown of Harry's curls.

But Louis suddenly feels like crying too, because they aren't going home, they don't have a home. At least not one together. Louis feels the realisation that this week between them is over, and it sits heavily in his stomach. He doesn't want it to end just yet. He's not ready. 

He manages to pull Harry out of the train station, his arm around his waist whilst Harry lets Louis support him. Louis finds it comforting, the weight in his arms, the challenge of dragging Harry's long legs along with his own. It feels familiar, an act that they've done since Harry was still smaller than him, and much lighter.

Harry lets Louis drive back them back, and Louis watches him out of the corner of his eye, watching him as he lays his head on the window and stares aimlessly out of it until he closes his eyes, the vibrations of the car lulling him to sleep. 

With the silence in the car, Louis's mind can't help but wander to this week.

He's disappointed now that it's over, and he's nervous about what it's going to be like between them now. He can't imagine Harry still coming up behind him to wrap him in a hug, or Louis being able to kiss his cheek as casually in front of the boys. They're not even going to be sleeping in the same bed anymore. Louis's going to move back home, to his lonely and dull house, a house where there's no Harry coming out of the bathroom in his towel, no Harry sitting at the table, or lying on the sofa, no Harry filling the house with the radio, or the tv, or the guitar, filling every space Louis never even knew was empty.

There'll be hardly trace of him back at Louis's. He made sure of that when Harry left. He took down the photos, seperated the clothes Harry left and put them at the back of the wardrobe where he never went, got rid of Harry's favourite coffee from the cupboard, bought new washing powder so his bedding held a different smell. He done everything in his power to erase their relationship after Harry left, never expected for them to actually be friends once he came back. He's worried they aren't even friends now, the bubble they've been in this week about to burst now that Anne and Gemma are gone. He's dreading walking through his front door, wishing he had left everything where it was so he felt like Harry was still there. But there's not much he can do about it now. 

He reluctantly shakes Harry awake when they pull up outside his house. He switches the engine off, and they're suddenly drowned in silence, only broken by the unbuckling of their seatbelts.

Their eyes meet for a split second, and Louis can't pin point the look Harry's giving him, but he doesn't want to either. 

He climbs out of the car, reaching the front door before Harry's even got his legs out of the car.

He stands patiently, rocking back and forth on his feet whilst Harry is his usual sloth self, slowly walking toward him as he pats his jeans for his keys. He finally reaches Louis, and is even slow putting the key in the lock. Louis would love to think that Harry's also wishing that they could prolong their goodbye.

They finally get inside, both of them shuffling awkwardly around each other as they take their shoes off in the entryway. 

"Um, do you want some tea, or something to eat?" Harry asks, not quite meeting his eye. So, yes, they do go back to being awkward, and their bubble has most definitely burst. 

"Sure. I'm going to go pack, though. I don't want to waste too much of your day," Louis tries to paste on a smile, but his cheeks hurt. 

Luckily, Harry only hums, swivelling around and going to the kitchen, not once looking at him, Louis sighs. He doesn't want to end the week like this, but he's not sure he has a choice. 

It's harder to pack than he thought. He's almost certain he brought more stuff than this, his bag feeling a lot more empty than before, and he does manage to find some of his clothes in with a pile of Harry's washing, as well as his shaving cream in the bathroom cupboard hidden by all of Harry's face masks and moisturisers, but other than that, he's just going to have to except that he's going to be leaving here without some of his belongings. 

He comes downstairs to find Harry sitting at the table, two sandwhiches in front of him and tea, but he's staring at the wall, the kitchen silent. Louis coughs into the back of his hand to make him aware of his presence, and Harry whips around to look at him. 

"Here you go," he says in an overly cheery voice, one that Louis heard him use on his dad when he said he was getting remarried. He knows it's force, but he doesn't know what to do considering it's never been directed at him. 

Louis takes the sandwhich that is passed across the table, as well as the tea, and he sits across from him, the smile slipping from Harry's face as he stares back down at the table, falling silent again. Louis wants to say something, but he has no idea how to get Harry to talk in this kind of situation. He doesn't know how he's feeling, or what he's thinking.

But he knows what he himself is thinking - he doesn't want to leave. 

They eat their lunch quietly, the only words spoken between them being Harry asking if Louis is all packed up. Louis almost asks him if he's seen any of his other stuff, but he doesn't. 

The most awkward part is when they've finished, and Louis can't bare to sit in this house with Harry any longer, the house that when he first walked in felt so foreign, but now holds small parts of him in each corner in some weird, haunted way. 

So, the only thing left to do is leave.

Harry walks him to the door, even carries his bag for him, although, Louis thinks he's doing it out of politeness rather than actually wanting to do it and send Louis home.

He places it in the back of his car, and the slam of the door falls upon them like an ending. Louis's throat tightens. It leaves them standing next to the driver's side, Harry standing in his slippers with his hands behind his back, looking as sheepish and innocent as ever. 

Louis remembers it being the other way round - him walking Harry out to his car, way more bags than just a couple being carried between them. It hadn't been this awkward then, just a mess of tears and kisses against the car before Harry had drove away and Louis had prompty collapsed onto the concrete, sobbing into his hands until one of his neighbours had walked past with their dog and helped him back inside. 

He doesn't expect the tight hug that Harry gives him then, crushing their ribs together. His arms robotically go around Harry, but he can't put anything into it, and he knows Harry can feel how limp he is, but he holds him up anyway.

He's not sure how he manages to stand when Harry lets go, doesn't quite remember getting into the car or driving home, but he's now outside his own house, and it looks so vacant.

He climbs out, throwing his bag across his shoulder. 

His feet feel to heavy when he walks through the doorway. The house is just as bleak as he imagined, the walls looking dingy and the light from the window highlighting the dust particles floating around. The sofa is all slouched with the indentation of Louis's body still implanted in it, and the whole house looks sparse. There's not enough chairs around the table, not enough photos on the wall, not enough blankets sitting around waiting to be used. It's cold since Louis didn't leave the heating on, and the only noise is the hum of the fridge and the creak of the pipes. 

His room is even worse, the bed cold and unmade, the cover to thin and raggly. He has the image of what the room used to look like - a bed filled with cushions and colourful throws, photos on the nightstands, a mix of band t-shirts and floral shirts flowing out of the wardrobe, the curtains always billowing with the wind from the open window.

Now, the night stands are bare, the wardrobe is practically empty, and both the window and curtains are constantly closed.

The lights cast a cold, yellow light across the room, giving everything a harsh edge, so Louis just closes his eyes and flops onto the bed. 

It's not as if him and Harry are never going to see each other again. In fact, they're going out tonight with the boys as a proper celebration for Harry's turn. He'll go, Harry will be there. They'll hang out at the club, they'll all dance. He'll see Harry and it'll be fine. They'll laugh and be happy. He'll except that this is how they'll be from now on, only seeing each other when the others want to go out, or when they're doing a show, or when they have an interview, or in the studio. They'll just be normal band mates that are friends, band mates that don't have to spend every minute of every day together, friends that don't go back to their shared home and kiss in the kitchen. He'll learn to live with only seeing Harry when they're out, and he'll learn to be fine with coming home alone and living his life in this empty house. He'll learn. 

He arrives at the club in the cab a little bit later than they agreed on. He spent longer on getting ready, procrastinating leaving the house. But he left eventually, his hair styled for the first time in months and his legs crammed into his skinniest jeans because they were the only ones he could find that weren't dirty. He really should have done his washing before going to stay with Harry.

He hasn't been into a club in a couple weeks now - since Harry got back. It feels like a life time ago. But right now as he's walking through all of the people to reach the vip section, it doesn't feel as weird as he thought. Maybe it's because he's not drunk or high, but he doesn't feel completed dissociated with everything around him. The music does send a shiver down his body, and his stomach twists in small, anxious knots, but it's not too bad. 

He finds Zayn and Niall sitting in a booth, and they both stand to clap him on the back, big grins on their faces. 

"Hey, man," Zayn shouts over the music. "You took so long we thought you wasn't coming," he laughs, his words slow in the way that is only caused by alcohol. 

"Yeah. Guess I didn't realise the time," he says, taking a seat next to Niall. 

"How was he seeing Anne and Gemma off?" Niall asks.

"Emotional," he decides on. 

"Hm. We guessed as much. He was being quiet when he first got here," Zayn supplies. 

"Oh."

Louis looks up to see Harry and Liam walking over to them just then. They're carrying three jugs of drink between them, as well as glasses for them all, and Louis watches Harry's long legs twist to get around people without spilling the drink, his sheer top that's unbuttoned showing off the light sheen of his skin. They reach the table, and both of them greet Louis by nodding whilst they try and balance the drinks up right as they set them down on the table.

Louis tries not to be too embarassed when Liam slides him a coke. 

Harry plonks himself down next to Louis, and Louis didn't realise how nervous he had been about seeing him, a flood of relief hitting him when Harry seems to be acting somewhat normal, if a little bit quiet like Zayn had mentioned.

He gives Louis a small smile, one that Louis can't do much with, can't tell how he's feeling, but he decides to just leave him alone for now and enjoy the night. 

It's his first time being in a club where he's not off his head in a long time, and he's with his actual friends, not a group of people that he's using just for the drugs. He actually feels a little bit excited to start the night, dare he say.

Within an hour, the three jugs have been emptied between the four boys, Louis sipping lightly threw the straw of his coke, and all of them have grown louder to compensate the noise of the club as well as the noise of their table. It's not long before Niall's demanding another round of drinks, and Zayn has gotten up to dance with some girl from the table next to theirs. 

Harry agrees to go get another round, and when neither Liam or Niall look like they're about to help him, Louis gets up. It's probably for the best anyway considering he's the only one not drunk and will be less likely to drop the drinks. The last parting demand from Niall is that they get them a round of shots as well, and Harry only nods before he's walking out towards the bar with Louis trailing behind him. 

The bar is crowded, groups bumping into each other, shouting across people's heads, hands reaching and grabbing at anyone and anything to pull themselves closer to the bar and get served.

Louis's hand naturally reaches out and holds onto Harry's waist, and he feels Harry's muscles relax under his touch. He's never liked crowds of people like this, especially not when they're rowdy. 

They reach the bar eventually, Harry managing to guide them through small spaces and gaps despite his size, and he flanks down one of the bar tenders. The woman clearly acknowledges who they both are, because her eyes widen in recognition before she's smiling and asking them what they want. But the music is louder here, speakers right behind the bar, and the shouts of the people don't help. Louis leans away, grabbing both of their phones and wallets off the top of the bar so they don't get snatched whilst Harry tries to communicate what they want with wild hand gestures and over-exaggerated mouthing.

Harry's not as drunk as Louis thought he was, barely even tipsy. He's standing up straight, his legs sturdy as he rests his pelvis against the bar, and he doesn't have a drink induced flush on his cheeks or glassy eyes yet. 

It's when Louis's standing in the corner, out of the way of the pushing and shoving, when his phone vibrates and lights up in his hand. Only, it's not his phone. It's Harry's, a bright picture of the ocean being disturbed by a notification. A notification from Jacob that simply reads 'I miss you'. 

Louis stares at it until the phone automatically goes dark again, and he feels his stomach twisting. 

Jacob and Harry are still talking. Jacob's saying _I miss you_ to Harry. 

He feels sick, doesn't even notice when someone shoves into him until he's resting against the wall. His mind is flashing with them images of Harry with who he imagines to be Jacob, and his throat is tightening up again, his chest is heavy, his ribs collapsing. 

And Harry's suddenly in his face, holding some of the drinks whilst the rest are on a tray on the bar. And Louis is suddenly angry. Angry at Jacob for texting Harry, for getting to have Harry for the past four months. Angry at himself for still being so tied up in everything to do with this curly haired man in front of him. Angry _at_ the man in front of him for making Louis feel like he was just betrayed. 

He shoves past the man in question, ignoring the squawk he makes when the drinks spill down his front.

He reaches the bar, and the same woman spots him, leaving another guy to come and serve him instead. He gives her a grin, and doesn't feel anything when he asks for a rum and coke, doesn't feel anything when she places it in front of him almost faster than he can pull out his money. He doesn't feel anything when it slides down his throat in three gulps apart from the burn that it ignites in his chest. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Harry's in his ear. 

Louis turns to him, leaving the empty glass on the bar. Harry is drenched, the spilt drinks making his sheer shirt even more see through, and he's looking at Louis, eyebrows raised and mouth hanging open.

Louis just glares, like a petulant child, and then he spins, walking out onto the dance floor. 

He thinks he sees Zayn for a split second, but then there's people coming from all sides and making him feel dizzy, and he loses sight of him. But now he's in the middle of almost everyone, and there's people latching on to his hips, his arms, his shoulders. He doesn't mind though - they're keeping him up. 

The next hour passes in a blur of colour and music. He's still only had that one drink, and it's euphoria has worn off, yet, he doesn't really feel like another. He feels better than he has in months, his feet getting lighter with each song, his chest easing until the air he breathes barely touches his throat, sliding down like syrup. And then there's arms around his waist, and he just backs into the person behind him, doesn't care who it is. The shared heat is enough to make him feel even better, and the guy behind him smells like cigarette smoke and whiskey. 

They dance to a few songs, and Louis never lets it get to far, dragging the man's hands back up if they travel too far down, leans away from his breath that's hitting his neck. And there's a girl in front of him, dancing like she's trying to hypnotise him. He doesn't want to tell her that the way she's pushing her boobs out does nothing for him, so he just holds her eyes instead. 

It's not long before the stranger behind him is dragging him back to the bar, though. Louis is almost relieved, his feet sarting to ache ever so slightly, and he does want another drink now, wants to get rid of the image of brown curls from his head. 

The crowd of people gets thinner the further away they get from the dance floor, and the lights at the bar finally let Louis see the guy. He's tall, and he has dirty blond hair that's a bit too shaggy, hanging around his ears and the nape of his neck. But he has a handsome face, a nose that's on the skinnier side and dark brown eyes that like to stare at Louis a lot. 

Louis squirms under the attention, turning to the bar and ordering them both drinks. 

"So, what's your name?" Louis asks.

"Mark," the guy leans in too close to Louis's ear, and he's breath makes a shudder run through his shoulders.

Mark is such a stupid name, Louis thinks. He suddenly wants to push the guy away when he stays too close to him, but he doesn't quite know how. Mark's hand is on his waist, and it's too hot, branding into his skin, and Louis just wants to go back onto the dancefloor, hide back inbetween all of the people and get away from anyone he knows the name of. 

He's just sipping his drink, Mark's face in his neck as he whispers something Louis's choosing to tune out, when Mark suddenly stumbles away from him. Louis puts his drink down on the bar, looking in confusion at Mark who looks just as bewildered and shocked, when Louis sees Harry standing there. 

He looks angry, fists at his sides, and his jaw is locked whilst his eyes stay hard as he glares between Mark and Louis. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Louis almost screams, despite the ease he feels now that Mark isn't breathing down on him. 

"We're going home," is all Harry says, his voice just as cold as his face. 

"You can leave if you want, it doesn't mean I have too," Louis shouts, feeling like the music is drowning him out. 

"We're both leaving, Louis. The others are too drunk to give you a lift home."

"I can get a cab. I don't need a lift." Louis is seething. He can't help feeling the same anger he felt when that stupid notification from Jacob was all he could see. 

Harry comes towards him, his hand wrapping around his wrist. 

"We're leaving, Louis. I'm not letting you stay here." Harry turns to glare at Mark who's just standing there, straw between his lips as he looks at Louis. The man is a lot more drunk than Louis is, and he looks like he might fall over, his feet shifting to hold him up. Louis is sickened that he let him touch him. 

Harry's suddenly dragging him towards the exit of the club, but Louis tugs back, planting his feet so it's harder for him to move. 

"Louis," Harry looks over his shoulder at Louis, gritting his teeth and tugging harder at Louis's wrist until Louis stumbles forward. 

"I don't want to go, Harry," he says firmly, getting his face closer to Harry's.

"I don't care, Louis," Harry says between his teeth. "We're leaving now, I don't care what you want."

Louis is a bit stunned at Harry's stubborness, the anger in his voice, but lets Harry pull him out into the cold air. 

"Harry, you can't just make me leave! You can't do that!" he screams. 

"I'm doing it, aren't I?" Harry says, still holding onto Louis's wrist. 

Louis's mouth drops open. 

"What the fuck has gotten into you?" Louis screams. His voice hurts, but the anger is bubbling over, hot and ready to erupt right here on the street. 

Harry just moves away, letting go of his writst as he starts walking towards his car that's on the other side of the road. Louis almost has the mind to turn around and walk straight back into the club, but he doesn't really feel like dancing anymore, he's not sure he would be able to find the others, and he's sure as hell isn't done with Harry.

He storms after him, his feet hitting the pavement a bit too hard and sending vibrations through his whole foot and up his legs. His ears are ringing from going from the defeaning noise of the club to the night's silence, and he feels like he doesn't know where he is anymore, but he follows Harry all the way to the car. 

"Are you actually not going to say anything? You just came over, shoved that guy, and then dragged me away. You can't _do_ that!" Louis's whole body rocks with the force of his voice, watching Harry go round to the driver's side and climb in. Louis stares at him in ultimate shock through the window on the passenger's side, watching as Harry starts the car and undoes the window. 

"Louis, get in the car. There's people," he looks past Louis's shoulder. 

Louis turns to find that, yes, there is people. There's not many, but they're all looking at the pair from across the road, one girl pausing from throwing up in the street to look at them whilst her friends have cigarettes hanging from their mouths. Louis could really use one of them right about now. 

He huffs, climbing into the car and slamming the door, knowing that if one of the onlookers recognises either of them then this will be all over the internet by tomorrow morning. He's just glad they're all drunk and disorientated.

He doesn't bother with his seatbelt, instead crossing his arms like that will be enough protection as Harry pulls away. 

They spend the first fifteen minutes in a tense silence, Louis waiting for Harry to explain, Harry waiting for Louis to yell. But all they get are angry breaths from each other, both of their faces settling into hard looks, Harry's hands tight around the wheel and changing the gear too harshly. It's only when Louis realises that Harry isn't turning off down his road and instead passing it that he turns to him. 

"Take me home, Harry," Louis says, his voice hard and strained as he tries not to punch through the window.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" Louis almost screeches. "Stop acting so fucking annoying and take me home."

"I'm not taking you home. I want to talk to you," is Harry's only excuse as he picks up the speed. 

"You want to talk? You want to _talk_? Could you not have done that at the club? Or, I don't know, during the entire week we've just spent together?" The sarcasm drips through his voice, and he looks over at Harry just in time to see his face flinch, but he stays silent, his mouth twisting. 

"Why don't we talk now so you can take me home?" Louis says, his whole body now turned to Harry. 

"Talk where you can have one of your fits in a confined space and derail us? I don't think so," Harry mutters, pulling into his driveway. 

Louis scoffs, but he doesn't have much time to say anything because Harry's out of the car. Louis tries to take a few deep breaths, but nothing calms down the fire raging inside of him. 

He follows Harry out of the car, finding the front door open and Harry's shoes already at the door. Louis doesn't care about his precious carpet right now, and he storms his dirty trainers through to the living room where he finds Harry, looking out of the window into the dark, his bottom lip held between his thumb and forefinger. 

"Well? Do you want to explain why you just dragged me back to your house?" 

Harry turns to him, and he doesn't look so angry anymore. There's a sheen of tears in his eyes, but Louis can't bring himself to care. Harry's unshed tears are nothing compared to the pain Louis's had to deal with. 

"It hurt," is all Harry says, looking down at the floor, his hands folded in front of him like a child being scolded. 

"What hurt?" Louis asks, his anger still drenching his voice until it's barely recognisable. 

"Seeing you with that guy," Harry mutters, still not meeting his eyes. 

"Mark? You were hurt seeing me with _Mark_?"

"Mark," Harry mocks his name under his breath, a line of anger returning between his eyebrows. 

"Stop being a child, Harry," Louis spits. 

Harry looks up at him, shocked. "I'm not being a child," and it's like he's snapped back into being angry, although Louis now knows he's not - he's jealous.

"How are you annoyed at me about Mark when you're doing the same thing with Jacob. I saw his text saying he misses you, so don't even lie."

"Jacob? Are you still on that? I told you he was just a friend. Friends are allowed to miss each other Louis."

Louis goes quiet, because he knows he overreacted about that, he knows it shouldn't have made him retaliate, but he's still pissed.

"For fucks sake, Harry. You can't do this anymore. You have no right to push guys away from me and then drag me home because you don't want anyone touching me. We're not together anymore," His voice is strained when he says it, and Harry looks at him with big sad eyes. 

"Just because we're not together doesn't mean I like watching people all over you, doesn't mean I don't want you all for myself - it doesn't mean I don't love you."

Louis feels like his insides are being ripped out and then blended before being shoved back in in all the wrong places. He feels his lungs deflate, his intestines wrap around his throat, his heart sitting heavy in the empty pit where his stomach should be. 

"What?" he breathes. Harry stays silent, his hands in a prayer formation in front of his mouth, eyes closed like he's wishing the words back in. But Louis heard them. Harry wants him. He still loves him. "Harry, what did you say?" 

Harry eventually opens his eyes, peeking through one before opening them both, seeing Louis standing there in shock. 

"I still love you. Isn't it obvious?" He's matched his voice level to Louis's, breathy and light, like if he barely speaks then the words might not be permanent, he might be able to just brush over them and pretend they're not even in his vocabularly. 

And then Louis's angry all over again. He doesn't understand, he doesn't want to comprehend. He knew that Harry will always love him in some way, but he came back from Italy so blasé about everything, acted like everything was normal, completely fine. And then there was Louis. Louis who was breaking, falling apart at every moment, never feeling his heart unclench because he knew he had lost the one thing he wanted, the one thing he could ever truly care about.

And here that thing is, saying that he still loves him and wants him for himself. Louis's brain is spinning, and he feels the start of a headache behind his left eye. 

"Harry, we've hurt each other too much. You don't understand the things I've been going through. I've almost given myself a _liver condition_ from drinking too much to forget you. You can't just say these things now, not when they don't mean anything," he can't look at Harry, doesn't want to see the expression on his face. 

But he can hear it in his voice. "They do mean something, Lou. They mean everything." Desperation. 

"You don't hurt the people you love, Harry," Louis says, his voice firm as he stares at the floor and takes a step back. He feels like he's breaking all over again. 

"You hurt me all the time," Harry whispers, his voice defeated like it's his only argument left. 

"I don't love you anymore. It's not right. I can't. You know we can't," Louis feels his heart shatter even more, which he didn't think was possible. There's too many pieces to put back together after this. The desperation in his voice matches Harry's. He wants to reach out and touch him, hold him, kiss him. He just wants to love his boy again.

But, like he said - they can't. It's already caused too much damage. He couldn't go through losing Harry again. 

"See," Harry says. "You're hurting me right now. I know you're lying. I know you still love me, too." His voice grows softer, and Louis wants to sink onto the floor, cover himself in darkness and not move until he's ready. He doesn't think he'll ever be ready. But Harry's stepping closer to him, and he suddenly wants to break out into a run. 

"I've always known I've loved you," Harry says, "more than anyone else. I knew I loved you, and I still left. I knew I loved you, and I still let us break. I knew I loved you, but for some stupid, stupid reason, I thought I could get over you." 

Louis almost wants to growl. This is all so messed up, all so frustrating, and Louis might as well have whiplash, but he knows one thing- he doesn't want Harry getting over him. It's selfish, yes, but he thinks he doesn't care.

"You were the first person to ever make me feel something real, the first person I ever truly wanted, and even at 16, I saw a whole life with you," Harry is right in front of him, but not so close that he's crowding Louis. "I knew I loved you. That was always the final thing at the end of the day. It still is." 

Louis grabs onto Harry's hips, trying to anchor himself and convince himself he's not having a nightmare, his breathing heavy as his brain tries to process Harry's words. 

"When I first got to Italy, I thought maybe if I get with a few people then I would be able to forget about you, prove to myself that I could love someone else just the same." Louis's hands tighten on Harry's hips possessively. "But everytime someone even looked at me, I felt sick. I compared everyone to you, even stupid things like how many tattoos they had or if their bottom tooth was slightly crooked. It was like I was trying to find a clone of you, and nothing else would do."

The pieces of Louis's heart feel warm as he releases a few tears, a small sob escaping as he looks down at Harry's chest, at his hands gripping Harry's hips as they drag him closer without Louis giving them permission. 

"I knew I loved you, but when I got back, when I saw you in that meeting room, I didn't love you."

Louis is now debating whether to kiss him or punch him in the throat. 

"I felt a whole other thing, something so much more. It was something infinite and I couldn't see an end to it. And then you hugged me and I hadn't felt so right in months. I hadn't felt like my heart was going to come up in my throat at any moment. All because you were there. That's when I knew I didn't love you - I adored you, I hated you, I was devoted to you, I worshipped you. I needed you. It was everything that made up what I felt for you, and it was so much stronger than love." His voice is so soft, so lovely, and it's fitting into all of Louis's cracks like cement, trying to hold him together one last time.

"All I ask for is the same." The whisper wracks through his whole body like a hurricane, but Harry's holding onto his arms, keeping him on the ground. 

He snorts despite himself, his eyes falling shut so his brain can focus without the sight of Harry swaying it.

"All you ask is that I give you everything?"

"Only yourself, if you're willing." It's soft, and pleading. 

Louis opens his eyes, and he remembers seeing Harry that very first time - ugly green polo, ugly brown trousers, ugly navy beanie, but a beautiful, beautiful boy. And of course Louis would give this boy everything, himself included. It's not even a question. 

"Harry, you've always had me."

Harry's lips crush onto Louis's, and Louis instantly tastes tears in his mouth. He's not sure who's they are, but it doesn't matter right now. They love each other, and Louis doesn't feel like Harry's about to melt away before he's eyes. He's there, right there in Louis's arms, and Louis has never felt so thankful to feel the weight of him, the warmth of his body as they gasp into each other's mouths. He has him back, and he loves him. Unbelievably so. 

Louis uses his hand against Harry's jaw to move him into the perfect angle, the one he used to do when he wanted Harry to melt. And it works. Of course it works. He's still the same person, and Louis has him again.

Harry groans low into his mouth, gripping hard onto the back of Louis's shirt as he pulls him impossibly closer. 

"I'm sorry," Louis mutters between kisses. 

Harry pulls back, looking perplexed. "Why are you sorry?" 

"For hurting you," Louis strokes his cheek with his thumb.

"Then I'm sorry too. I think I put you through a lot more than you put me through." They laugh gently, but Louis really couldn't care less about the last four months. Maybe they needed it. Maybe Gemma was right. Maybe it was a good thing Harry went away. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. _You've both realised what life is without each other, and you don't ever have to do it again._ They've both realised that all they want is each other, that's all they'll ever need. 

Harry kisses Louis again, his lips insistent as they open Louis's mouth. Louis licks at his lips, teasing him and coaxing them open easily. But Harry's a good boy, doesn't get to greedy, and it's worth it for when Louis finally slips his tongue in against his and they both physically deflate in relief. 

"Maybe it'll be safer if we go upstairs," Louis laugh is tearful, but so happy as he tries to hold Harry up. The latter nods into his neck before turning and leading him up the stairs and into his room. It's the same room Louis's been sleeping in for the past week, the same bed he got off in, the same bed where they kissed for the first time in four months that casual morning. 

Harry faces him again, drawing him in for another kiss. Louis lets his hands travel between them, unbuttoning Harry's top despite many of them being already popped open, and he pushes the material off of Harry's shoulders. 

Harry whines when Louis detatches their lips, but he groans when Louis starts kissing down his neck, one hand in his hair as he leaves a trail down to his collarbones. Louis kisses across each of the birds tattooed there, going from one shoulder to the next, sucking at the ink.

But Harry gets impatient, tugging at Louis's top until Louis lets him pull it over his arms, chucking it somewhere on the floor. 

Their bare chests pressed together seems to fix some part of Louis. He feels their uneven heartbeats trying to sync, always just missing each other by a millisecond, and the warmth of Harry's skin heats his whole body. 

Harry allows Louis to push him until his knees hit the bed, and he shuffles back on to it until Louis is lying over the top of him, stroking some of his hair out of his face. He stares up at Louis with wide, tearful eyes, and Louis can't help but kiss his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his eyelids, his ears, soft whispers that don't make much sense escaping his mouth. 

He follows the same trail again, going down Harry's neck to his collarbones, across his shoulders, but now leading down his ribcage and stomach. He leaves open mouthed kisses along the way, his tongue flicking over his nipples and paying special attention to the butterfly at the top of his abdomen and the laurel leaves at his hips, Harry twisting underneath him with each touch, and when Louis's face is above his pants, he lifts his hips up, almost shoving his clothed dick into Louis's mouth.

Louis chuckles as he pins his hips down to the mattress again, and Harry's moan fills the room. 

"Calm down, baby," he whispers, but mouths against Harry's cock anyway. 

"It's hard when this is all you've been wanting for four mo-" he goes silent as Louis sticks his tongue onto his jeans, wetting the material and allowing Harry to feel the heat of his mouth through it. 

"Please, please, please," Harry chants, eyes closed as he fists at Louis's hair. Louis slowly undoes his jeans, dragging the zipper down so slow he almost irritates himself. He does it eventually though, pulling the material down Harry's thighs, along with his boxers, tugging them off his feet whilst Harry uses his toes to get his socks off. He's suddenly gloriously naked under Louis, and Louis stares it him, his eyes trailing over every old curve of Harry, refamiliarising himself, and then studying the new ones. 

His abs keep clenching and unclenching in anticipation, his hair already a mess, and his chest flushed. His cock is standing, red and hard, a contrast to his thighs that Louis immediately dives in for as soon as they catch his attention. 

He mouths at Harry's tiger tattoo before working inwards, hands gripping tight at Harry's love handles. Harry spreads his legs wide, and Louis smirks as he bites at the thin skin of Harry's inner thighs, Harry whimpering underneath him whilst Louis licks to sooth any harsher marks made with his teeth.

He can smell Harry here, so strong that his brain becomes a bit foggy, and he can't help but nuzzle the crease between Harry's thigh and cock. He never thought he would be like this with Harry again, and he wants to go slow. He wats to give Harry everything he knows he likes and then more. 

He licks at Harry's tip, a cut off whine escaping Harry as Louis teases his slit. Louis has always loved how he goes uncoherent when he's enjoying himself, only whines and loud moans coming from him that get Louis even harder. Louis loves to ask him questions just to see him try and fumble for an answer that he knows he can never give. 

Just when Harry's getting to tiredsome of the teasing, Louis takes him down in one go, watching as Harry throws his head back so far that Louis can only see the pale column of his throat and jawline. He bobs his head, his hand pumping where his mouth can't reach, doing every trick in the book that he knows gets Harry to fist at the sheets and curl his toes. But then Harry's fumbling, pushing his head up and dragging him until Louis is above him again. 

"Please, I want you to fuck me. Just like before. Please," Harry whines. 

"Anything, baby. Anything you want." Louis kisses him on the mouth again, Harry bucking his hips up as a hint to get a move on. 

Louis stands up off the bed to pull his own jeans and boxers off, and Harry watches him, eyes dark and wild as Louis reveals more and more of his skin. He looks like a greek god spread out on the bed waiting for Louis, his curls fanning around his head on the white pillow, his lips red and body sculpted from marble. He's beautiful. 

Louis climbs back between his legs, and he spreads them willingly.

"Do you have stuff?" Louis asks, kissing his cheek. 

"Yeah, yeah. In the night stand."

Louis reaches over and finds a pack of condoms and some lube. 

"Do we relly need those?" Harry asks as he warily looks at the condoms. 

"Well, I haven't... you know. I haven't done anything since - well - since us," Louis says. 

Harry shakes his head. "Neither." He chucks the packet off the bed. Louis can't help the bubble of happiness and possessiveness that forms in his chest. 

Louis coats his fingers with the lube before circling his index finger against Harry's rim. It's tight, but it flutters at Louis's touch. Louis kisses Harry as he pushes it in, Harry sighing against his mouth as his body melts into the bed. Louis gently moves his finger, twisting it as he pulls it in and out shallowly to get Harry used to it. But then Harry's digging his fingernails into his back, begging for another. 

Louis slots a second finger in against the first, now having the ability to scissor them, stretching Harry's rim. He has Harry panting under him as he puts in a third not long after. Harry leans up, kissing him and spreading his legs wider. 

"I love you, but if you don't get inside me right now I might rethink," Harry mutters against Louis's mouth. 

Louis chuckles but slips his fingers out nonetheless, wiping them on the covers. He doesn't know who's more eager for this to happen, but they both end up slicking the lube onto Louis's cock. 

"Do you want it like this," Louis says, rubbing his tip against Harry's rim. 

Harry gasps and then nods, "Just like before."

Louis hums, and then he's pushing into Harry, both of them gasping and choking on their moans. Louis hangs his head on Harry's shoulder once his hips meet his arse, and Harry mouths at his sweaty neck, clawing at his back. 

Louis slowly drags out before pushing back in, and Harry goes still under him, his back arched so he's pressed against Louis. Louis knows he's found his spot on the first go, so he does it again, Harry's mouth dropping as he lets out a harsh breath, chest heaving with it. 

Louis kisses his slack mouth as he does it again and again, Harry tightening his legs around Louis's waist and gripping onto his shoulders. Louis can feel his climax building already, his body sent into disbelief at feeling Harry underneath him, writhing and clenching around his cock like he's trying to coax it out of him. But Harry seems to be in the same position, his right eyebrow twitching as his eyes flutter shut despite him trying to keep them open. 

Louis keeps going until Harry comes, muttering against his mouth and into his neck, ribbons of white shooting up to his chest as he arches his back further and moans so loud Louis thinks he might come from the vibrations of it.

He goes to pull out, but Harry's pulling him back by pressing his heels into the back of his thighs. 

"Keep going," he breathes, staring into Louis's eyes with a sedated expression. 

"Are you sure?" 

As soon as Harry nods, Louis slams back in, Harry whining at the over stimulation. Louis twists his hand into his hair, tugging gently everytime he bottoms out, Harry giving him low whines every time he does so. Louis thinks that maybe he should stop considering Harry hasn't done this in a while, but then Harry's pulling his leg up and over Louis's shoulder, holding his thigh back with one of his hands and allowing Louis to go deeper. 

"I'm yours," Harry whispers, mouth struggling to form the words as Louis continues to push into him. But it sends Louis over the edge, coming inside Harry and gasping into his mouth.

Harry strokes his hair, nibbling on his chin when Louis can't seem to function and kiss Harry back. When the last shock of his orgasm ripples through him, he practically collapses on top of Harry. They're both sweaty, and Harry's come is squelching between them, but neither of them could care less. 

He kisses the side of Harry's foot before letting his leg down off his shoulder, wrapping it round his waist instead. Their skin is hot, but so soft as they lay there, Louis caging Harry against the bed, Harry's limbs wrapped around him, keeping him there. 

He does eventually pull out of Harry when it becomes slightly uncomfortable, and Harry breathes deep as they seperate. Louis feels his come slipping out along with him, and it's the final thing that satisfies Louis, almost like a claim on the man below him.

Harry kisses him again as Louis rolls off of him and onto his side. 

"You have no idea how much I've missed you," Louis whispers into Harry's shoulder, grazing his lips against the hot skin. 

"Believe me, I do. You're all I've thought about for the past four months. And you have no idea how much I've wanted you over the past week. I had to wake up before you otherwise I would have pounced on you," Harry laughs. 

Louis pinches his side. "Is that why the one morning I actually woke up with you, we ended up kissing?" 

Harry looks at him sheepishly, a shy smile on his face. 

"I mean, I always knew you didn't have much willpower, but that's ridiculous," Louis chuckles. 

"Heyyy. I have a lot of willpower," Harry mutters, pretending to pout. Louis looks at him disbelivingly.

"Okay. I don't have willpower when it comes to you. But you have to admit that I do in any other situation."

"Whatever you say, babe," Louis laughs. Harry just swats him with the back of his hand. 

"How are we going to explain this one to the boys?" Louis says after a little while of silence, both of them staring at their intertwined hands as they hold them up in front of them. 

Harry laughs. "I think they already had a bet on how long it would take for us to get back together."

"What?" Louis laughs along with him. 

"Yeah. I caught them talking about it in the studio before you got there. I couldn't really stop them when I already knew I still loved you." 

Louis chuckles into Harry's shoulder. "Who won?"

"Pretty sure it was Niall."

"Niall does seem to be particuarly good at guessing these types of things."

"Yeah, he is, isn't he."

Harry rolls over, turning into Louis and burying his head into his chest, kissing above his peck. 

"What's going to happen now?" he asks, lips moving against Louis's skin. Louis wraps his arms around him, his leg going over his hip. 

"We can do whatever you want. We can go as slow as you feel like. As long as I have you, I'm happy."

"I want to live with you again," Harry leans up on his forearm, looking down at Louis. 

"Yeah?" Louis reaches up and strokes his cheek, brushing the hair behind his ear that flops into his face. Harry nods eagerly.

"Yeah. I've already been without you for four months, I don't want to have to be without you any longer."

Louis kisses him again, their lips slow and gentle, and he's never loved someone this much.

They've still got a lot to talk about, a lot to sort through, a lot to work on individually, but Louis's not too worried about time, not anymore.

Because he suddenly feels like he's just been promised forever again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much if you read all the way through.  
> I really hope you liked it!


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